Lord of Chaos
by kujikiri21
Summary: Ranma is a wild horse. A wildcard. None can predict him, nor can they control. He seems to able to defy Destiny itself. Let us see him walk among others that can do the same. The First Ever Ranma/Campione Crossover
1. Chapter 1

Ascension of Chaos [working title]

Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma 1/2 or Campione, which is a pity because I have a few dreams that require more than a bit of dough.

AN: Hey all, this is your favourite author calling out to you. This story is an idea that has been banging around in my head for the last month, distracting me from my current work 'On Steel Wings'. It is a crossover of Ranma and Campione, that I am surprised has not yet been done, to the best of my knowledge.

The two universes may have a little difficulty blending to together but I think it is possible. Not to mention the sheer entertainment value of visualising Ranma meeting Luo Hao. Clash of egos anyone?

I am not at as familiar with the Ranma franchise as I want to be, and am confused about when some of the events have taken place. I have also not seen the anime or the movies so I am not sure if I will be able to include them. So please be forgiving if I stuff it up somewhat.

That said, this takes place during the 'New Year's Cat Spirit' mini-arc, just after Ranma has achieved his Mouko Takabisha and is now attempting to save Shampoo, with the aid of Akane the brat and Mousse the blind duck, from the clutches of a returned Mao Mo Lin.

A word of warning to those who like Akane, I think she is an absolute brat, and that is being kind, with no control over her temper and will be treated with disdain in my writings. I am not overly fond of the Tendos and Genma (The worst parent. Ever. Period) either, with the exception of Kasumi (so nice, so gentle, it has to hide something about her. I refuse to believe someone can be that oblivious) and maybe Nabiki (cunning and callous, but considering the way Soun 'raised' her, if that could be applied to the human waterfall, necessary for the survival of the household. Thats not to say that she doesn't cross the line a few times for her own gain. Its just human nature to be selfish). I think Ryouga should be be served as Suckling Pig in Hong Kong, Mousse as Peking Duck in Beijing and don't even get me started on the Kuno's. They're lunatics.

I think Shampoo and Ukyo are a pit pushy and opinionated, and am undecided if I should make either of them Ranma's interest, but I think that their characters are salvageable, especially Shampoo with what I have planned with Ranma becoming a Campione and the laws of the Joketsuzoku that cover them. I also plan to have a little twist with the Amazons, in particular the origins of the tribe and who formed them.

I also plan to have a little twist in the tale in regards to Nodoka. And I may not make Ranma stay in Japan as a Campione and have him 'set up shop' elsewhere. If I make him stay, Godou may not come into existence, if I make him leave, Godou will definitely become a Campione.

Feel free to review and send in suggestions for which Heretic Gods or other monsters like Divine Ancestors or just straight out Mystical Beasts(who will threaten his claimed home or he will just run across it, but are not Heretic Gods and thus will not grant Ranma an Authority) Ranma will face and what path he may take.

P.S. I don't think other mystical beings, like fairies, elves, vampires or others, that inhabit the real world, as opposed to different dimensions, and are not Heretical Beings, have been shown in Campione much, if at all, even if they are definitely there. A suggestion on how to include them in my story would be greatly appreciated.

I hope you enjoy the show!

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Ranma Saotome was in trouble.

While this wasn't a surprise to those who knew him, his chaotic life leading him into situations defying logic and the laws of reality almost hourly, this time it was a trifle more serious

This normally brash and (over) confident young man, a martial artist par excellence, was laying on the cold stones of the run-down cat temple's courtyard, almost catatonic in fear and sheer terror, something that many would believe was completely alien to young warrior. His body quaked and shivered as he looked at the white cat crawling towards him, the devilish eyes piercing his soul in concert with the deep tones of the temple bell.

_Bong!_

"107! Nya!" a deep voice yowled, it's owner, a bakeneko named Mao Mo Lin, as it heaved the striker back into position for the last blow, the 108th strike, that would bind the cat as his wife.

Why he wanted to, Ranma had no idea, but then his mind wasn't really with him at the moment, the venomous fear and terrors of his past scratching at the edge of his consciousness.

"Noooo! My Shampoo!" wailed a certain visually challenged weapons user as he raced toward the large spiritual cat, desperately attempting to stop the last tone from sounding so as to allow his Shampoo, currently a little white cat, to - here the Chinese young man shuddered in horror and disgust - kiss the foul Saotome, whom she professed foolishly to love, before the last chime and escape being locked into a feline form and bound in marriage to the damned bakeneko, forevermore.

"Hurry up, Ranma no Baka!" screeched Akane, a (self-proclaimed) martial artist of note and fiancee to the pig-tailed, ailurophobic young man, as she also moved towards the weak cat spirit as well to prevent the 'floozy pussycat', as she referred to Shampoo, from becoming merely a 'pussycat'.

Now doubt her gorilla-like strength will be of some use.

Mao Mo Lin raised back the striker for the final tone, eager to claim the former human girl as his bride. A voice, almost lost in the sands of time and memory, urging him on, as it had for the last three thousand years. A remnant of the his past and, hopefully, his future.

"_Strike it_." the voice whispered, a silky croon mixed with a purr, "_strike it, and let the West rise again._"

Mao Mo Lin heeded the advice and thrust the striker as hard as his weak body, in comparison to the almost inhuman martial artists that inhabited the ward, could.

Mousse could only watch in horror as the striker swung the bell that would doom his love. He had nothing in his arsenal that could be deployed fast enough, or with enough power, to avert this disaster.

Akane kept moving, along with the fear-filled duck boy, but knew she wouldn't be fast enough.

Shampoo, in her feline cursed form, leapt for her, still petrified with feline fear, Airen, her feline lips reaching for his pale human ones, racing the bell striker to determine her fate and destiny.

Time seemed to slow as the striker and cat reached for their targets, the future in the balance.

Closer and closer they came, the striker to the bell and the cat to the boy.

In another world, the cat had reached the boy, and kissed him, before the final sound of the temple bell, and returned to her voluptuous human form, allowing her to continue to pursue the aquatranssexual martial artist as a husband, thus continuing the boy's chaotic life.

This was not that world.

By some cruel twist of fate, destiny or chance, the boy, his thoughts wild in fear, even as his body was frozen in terror, saw the demonic critter fly at him, and _flinched_. Violently.

That flinch, as ill-timed as could be, moved his head, _just so_, enough to prevent the cursed cat's lips from meeting his own, letting them only graze his cheek instead.

The 108th tolling of the bell sounded like a death knell to the cursed female Amazon.

Before Shampoo's mind could comprehend the dire consequences of the action, everything went to Hell.

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As the final sound of the bell rang out, martial artists within the Nerima ward, those sensitive to Ki and Chi in particular, felt a wave of power ripple through them, like a pond disturbed by a falling stone. It was potent and powerful, unimaginably so, frightening more than a few, a certain panda and waterfall duo included.

But it was not just the power that wave carried. It also carried the emotions of its owner.

What frightened them all out of their minds, was the types of emotions that filled the wave.

A desire for blood, verging on a need to slaughter and kill. A cruel sadistic amusement, as if amused by the pains and despair of the insects below it. A deep ravening hunger that could never be filled. A drive to conquer, to destroy, to fight.

It was inhuman.

Among the populace of the ward, only three could tell what that wave truly was, what it truly meant.

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Elder Cologne, a Matriarch of the Joketsuzoku, paled white as she felt the emergence of a power she had encountered only once before in her three centuries of life, when she was at the height of her strength. It was also the time when she felt the most helpless, like a new-born puppy facing a tiger in it's prime.

Knowing it was helpless to interfere, but also knowing her great-granddaughter was in danger, she frantically began hopping toward the source of the disturbance, her staff and shriveled form a veritable blur as she moved along the rooftops, a series of pleas and prayers spilling through her mind like a river to the unfeeling gods above, hoping desperately that they would listen.

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Atop a roof that overlooked an onsen currently filled with nubile female forms, Happousai froze in astonishment and fear. He knew that type of power, and it scared the living shit out of him. Martial artists, angry women, monsters, cursed beings and many more, each of these he could fight, to one degree or another, and win easily, if he took them seriously.

_This_, he didn't have a hope of facing and coming out alive, or even doing damage to it. He could only pray that someone would be able to contact one of the Kings before too much damage was done.

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Sato Homura was an average salary man.

At least, that was what he was seen as.

A construction worker within the Nerima district of Tokyo, his foreman had no real complaints about the man. He was diligent in his work, always willing to help his colleagues if something was wrong and knew when to laugh and when to be serious amongst the rest of the workers.

He didn't really socialize amongst the rest of the men, despite repeated invitations, saying he had prior commitments, something his fellow hard working Japanese people were appreciative and understanding of.

But it was New Year's Eve and Homura had decided a change of pace was in order and had decided to go to one of the local bars, ready to ring in the new year.

He was sitting at the bar, chatting to one of the patrons, a pale skinned beauty of a woman with lustrous, long, flowing black hair, mischievous almond shape hazel eyes and a talented tongue (in more ways than one if what she did with that cherry stem was any indication), when the Wave hit.

Homura froze in shock and terror, a half finished word clogging in his throat, as he felt it. He watched blankly as the rest of the bar seemed to freeze in confusion, no doubt feeling the inexplicably terrifying emotions and not sure of the source or how to react.

_'No!_' he mentally tried to futilely deny, '_it can't be! Not here! Not now!_'

But he was too well trained, too worldly, too well educated and experienced, to deny what he had felt.

Trembling slightly, he managed to slip away from the gorgeous woman, mentally cursing the timing of the source of the damned power, and reached for his cellphone, as he reached the doors to the establishment, practically running out of them and sprinting towards the source of the power, and swiftly called a number he knew by heart, his feet moving him forward and pounding the footpaths anxiously in time to his terrified heartbeat as it rang through.

Finally it was picked up.

He didn't wait for a greeting, "Sato Homura," he blurted out to the operator, "Ame ni no makezu, kaze ni no makezu."

"_Code confirmed_." the operator responded, after a moments silence in surprise.

"Code Black. I repeat, Code Black." Homura rushed out, speaking the code that informed his real company, who had placed him in Nerima ward due to the various strange events that were taking place during the last year, on the current state of affairs as he ran.

A sharp intake of breath was heard across the line, "_is this confirmed?_" there was a wistful plea of hope that he was mistaken.

Before he could respond caustically, a sudden burst of wind and power _**roared**_, sounding like a thousand angry tigers, tearing down the street, shattering the windows in his sight, knocking down trashcans and signs, rocking vehicles violently and almost deafening him had it not been for an almost instinctual move to cover his ears, clamping his cell to one and a hand to the other. Homura stared at the destruction wrought by the hurricane force wind from where he had crouched, hands over his ears, behind a small car.

A moment passed before he spoke again, "It is confirmed."

He watched the shell shocked people on the street slowly rise back to their feet from where they had been tossed like ragdolls upon the ground.

"A Heretic God has emerged."

He watched a car, that had been almost thrown on its side from the howling gale, creak and wobbled before slamming back down on it's tyres, the lone unbroken side window breaking from the violent drop.

"Heavens help us all." he whispered.

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Mousse watched as his beloved Shampoo missed kissing the accursed Saotome, even as the bell rang out for the last time. A curious mix of despair and relief covered him in equal measure, relief that his beloved Shamppo was not defiled by the lips of the worlds enemy of women and despair that his love was forever chained in the form of a furry animal.

His life wasn't worth living without the voluptuous and toned human form of his beloved.

As he quietly prepared to take his own life in sorrow of the loss of his human love, he was halted by the next series of events.

To his unbelieving glass framed eyes, he saw his Shampoo glow a blinding white, like a flare of flame from a furnace. His senses reeled as he felt the power of it, too strong to just be Shampoo's Ki.

The force of the erupting power also threw the vile Saotome away from her, making him land in a heap near the male Amazon and Akane, much to his vindictive pleasure.

"Gaaah!" cried the brutish, in Mousse's mind, Tendo, "What's happening?!"

Mousse didn't get a chance to reply as, at the same time as Shampoo began imitating a light house, the bakeneko also began to ripple and glow with power, much more than he had shown before, then releasing it a wave that staggered the still standing martial artists to their knees, and simultaneously made them nauseous and sick as the feelings buried within it made them feel like they were wading through a sewer filled with the rotten blood and bones of the dead.

His head spinning, Mousse could only watch as the burning light around his beloved rose above her limp feline form. The light, burning brightly, slowly began to shape itself into the silhouette of a woman. If he was not so worried about his Shampoo or had felt that miasmic wave from the bakeneko, he would have been awed at its beauty, proof that his darling love was truly beautiful, even in spirit.

The light woman hovered briefly, before shooting towards the bakeneko, its paws open in welcome.

Some inner klaxon of warning went off, violently, in the Amazon's mind, causing him perform to a well known Amazon manoeuvre. The Swallow Returns to the Nest.

Otherwise known as 'Duck and Cover, you Idiot.'

The streak of light struck the cat spirit, a clash of light and darkness. Power erupted from the union, the cat holding the now formless cloud of energy in its embrace, before the cat also lost cohesion, becoming a ball of black power, filled to the brim with malice and death, and began mixing with the womanly aura of light.

A blink of time and a flash of brighter light that staggered the Amazon from where he lay with his face in the ground and made the Tendo girl cry out, falling backward as the foolish girl's eyes screamed in pain from the light flash, blinding them both. The flash had also managed to stir the vile Saotome from his feline induced stupor.

Scrubbing the sore and watering eyes beneath his lenses, his other senses alert, Mousse began to bring himself to his feet as fast as he could. Some sense, some internal instinct, told him that '_something wicked this way comes_', to quote that Western Bard.

"My, my" a cheerful female voice spoke, the tones washing over the Amazon like water over stone, drawing him to the origin of it, "such unsightly youths."

Slowly the Amazon's eyes fixed themselves from the sudden glare that injured them, allowing him, and his companions to look upon the source.

It was all Mousse could do not to gasp in awe at the sight of the beauty before him.

Long black hair, seemingly drinking in the silver light of the moon, reaching to the waist. It would have been longer had it not been pulled up into an elegant bun, the two sticks holding it together made of purest gold. Atop that, sat a jade tiara, seeming to glow a dim green light. Her face, pale as porcelain, was perfect from what he could see, despite her mouth and lower face hidden by the ornamental hand fan decorated with frolicking animals of myth, like a nine-tailed fox and a three legged crow, surrounded by what seemed to insects with jade wings. Heterochromatic eyes were her most striking feature, green and gold respectively, the golden one slit like a predator and the green jade aglow with an inhuman majesty.

Her figure was hidden by the colourful robes she wore, red and white and gold mixing and twisting within its voluminous depths and scattered with depictions of peaches.

All in all, she was a striking beauty that many a man would fall over themselves to obtain. Something that Mousse was far from immune to, but she also gave off a feeling that belied the beautiful visage. A feeling of terrifying menace, inhuman power, hungry bloodlust and sadistic amusement, like a predator eying their cornered prey.

Like a cat playing with a mouse.

The back of his mind _screamed_ at him to run away and never look back or, failing that, walk on eggshells thinner than paper around this being, for the beauty before him could scarcely be considered human, even his Shampoo didn't have such perfection and overwhelming power.

Shampoo...

Ignoring the Beauty, he looked at the fallen form of his feline beloved, still as death, and his heart froze in fear, not wanting her dead, before her chest slowly moved up and down, giving some slight relief that she was still amongst the living.

Of course, that moment of inattention let the most hot-headed and brutish female he had ever met open her loud mouth.

Big. Mistake.

"Who are you?!" Akane barked, a voice to match her personality, as she settled into a fighting stance as she got back to her feet, an angered scowl on her face, "what do you want!? Where is that damned spirit and what happened to the Chinese floozy?!"

Mousse moaned in annoyance inwardly. Why did she have to open her damned mouth? She has all the tact of a frypan to the face and situational awareness of a dead cow. She always barked louder than her fangs could bite, often leading to dramas and shenanigans. And he was currently up his waist in it with her!

She really needed to develop some survival instincts if she acted as aggressive as she does to a being that clearly outclassed her so much it wasn't funny. He also had a feeling that this Beauty was not one to take ill manners lightly.

The weapons user frowned slightly as he had yet to here anything from the foul Saotome, the gender-changing martial artist generally one to also fire off a quick comment without heeding the possible consequences. A subtle shift of his head let him look at the now standing Ranma whilst also keeping an eye on the now visibly angry woman.

Whatever feline fear the Saotome had exhibited was now gone, thanks to the emergence of this Beauty, seeming disappearance of the cat spirit and the, Mousse gritted his teeth, comatose state of his beloved Shampoo, replaced by a wary eying of the Beauty, seeing her as a possible threat, his body posture deceptively relaxed and his tongue uncharacteristically silent.

Good. That meant the enemy of women was taking things seriously for once.

"No need to raise your voice at _me_, young lady," the Beauty, so captivating and alluring, spoke in annoyance, her lips still hidden behind the fan, and her robes seeming to rustle in anger, a warning that to anger her further would invite consequences.

Sadly, Akane didn't seem to get the memo.

"Akane..." Mousse and Ranma, in a rare moment of agreement, tried to warn her, only to be ignored as she unleashed her annoyance of having to save that Chinese floozy that night upon an unsuspecting, and increasingly angered, being of power.

"I speak how I wish," the teenage girl snapped out, making the Beauty's eyes narrow in anger and the fan come to a complete halt, a glint promising pain to the Tendo girl alight in her mismatched eyes, "now tell us..."

"**_Be Silent_**."

The words, issuing from the Beauty's unseen mouth as her tiara glowed dazzlingly for a moment, twisted and distorted the air, like they were a living thing, and seemed to strike the Tendo with a hammer blow, the teenager's mouth snapping shut.

The two males eyes widened slightly, feeling the amount of power that was in those words, like they were a command that could not be disobeyed. The funny thing to Mousse, was that it didn't feel like Ki in the words, it was powerful certainly, but it wasn't the force of life.

If it wasn't Ki, then that left...

"Great," Ranma whispered tightly, his form tightening up, ready to rumble at a moments notice as he came to the same conclusion as Mousse, "Magic."

The word was practically spat out, bitterness, anger and tired annoyance mixing with a dawning apprehension. Ranma's experiences with this otherworldly power were far from positive, even from the most minor of spells, charms and artefacts, most often due to either his own ignorance or his father's stupidity and greed. This lead to an, to Ranma, obviously healthy distrust and distaste for anything magical in nature.

Mousse had a feeling this encounter, with an obviously magical being, would only reinforce that mentality.

If they survived the Beauty's ire that is, something Mousse was coming to doubt due to Akane's goading.

"Your disrespect is noted, wench," the Beauty practically hissed, even as Akane tried, and failed, to speak again. The obvious spell cast by the Beauty seeming to have done something to the girl's voice box, "I have not been myself for a very long time, but not even the worst of the worst, amongst men or God, have dared to speak to me in such a manner, save for the uncultured Ape" the fan fluttered away from her mouth, exposing the ruby lips and, surprisingly, the prominent tiger like fangs protruding from her maw.

"This will be addressed."

With these ominous words, Mousse felt a gathering of immense power, staggering him at the enormity of it. His instincts screamed at him to move. He followed that advice, leaping away from the suddenly even more terrifying Beauty.

He watched as Ranma blurred into action, his own danger senses warning him as well, grabbing the silently protesting, and oblivious, Tendo, hoisting her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, before freezing a moment in indecision, and then blurring toward the feline form of Shampoo, who was possibly in the line of fire, his eyes closed tightly shut in a possible attempt not to fall into madness.

Mousse idly wondered, his mind slowing down, as if lost in a fog, why the foul Saotome had even done so, even as the practitioner of Anything Goes managed to scoop her up and move away, his movements suddenly jerky and halting as he fought the overwhelming fear, it was not like the female Amazon was even in the same league as the Beauty, wonderful and alluring, powerful and graceful, a sure prize even if he knew not her name.

Still in the air, Mousse watched in adoration as the Beauty, so strong, so powerful, opened her delicate mouth, her white fangs glittering in the moonlight, and **_roared_**.

It was a sound that could never have been produced from a human throat, nor any animals despite the primality of it. It was rage and anger, blood and war, death and destruction, all tied in with a voice of a thousand angry tigers. The very air churned and thrashed before it's indomitable might.

So powerful was it, the courtyard seemed to almost tear itself apart before it, tossing large paving stones, crushing and tossing around wooden posts like they were mere toys. The noise alone seemed to almost his crush head to make his ears meet each other.

Then it got worse.

A wind - no, a small hurricane - came in the wake of the rage filled cry, further throwing around the loose debris, uprooted trees and airborne martial artists as it roared out of the temple gates and into the city proper, leaving nought but destruction in its wake.

Mousse felt himself like he was grasped by a giant hand and thrown away, losing control of his airborne manoeuvring, tumbling and spinning in protest, before he struck the stone wall that surrounded the temple.

SMACK! CRASH!

Mousse felt his ears ring and head throb madly from the collision, his experiences with Shampoo's bonbori giving him enough endurance to, just slightly, maintain consciousness. After all, it wouldn't do to let this Beloved Beauty see him weak.

CRACK!

Mousse slipped into unconsciousness, much like the stone that had fallen upon his head.

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"Move it! Move it!" a voice roared in the communal assembly area of the History Compilation Committee's building, heard clearly even over the bustling forms of it's equivalents to the Knights amongst the European association.

These 'mage knights', as it were, were the militaristic arm of the Committee, mainly from the Seishuuin family and its wide branches but others were also included if they had the skill, power and influence to back them up. They were the sword, the mailed fist, the weapon bearers, the warriors in peace and war that served the families and protected them.

And many of them currently felt that they were going to their deaths.

Heretic Gods were terrors to the normal mage, to any mage in fact, indestructible beings able to take your best strike, with weapon or spell, brush it off like it was a speck of dust and then strike you down with their own, simple and single, attack of their powers beyond mortal ken.

Like the one that caused the 1923 Kanto Plain Earthquake.

Even their best could not defeat them, even if they all worked together, acting in concert. As a rule, only another Heretic God or a Campione, could defeat or kill one. There were exceptions, but they were just that, exceptions, not the norm.

And the Committee currently lacked either the exceptional or a Campione to call upon.

Nonetheless, they had a job to do. Protect the citizens of Japan from the supernatural and hide all evidence of it. Generally this meant destroying the threat with judicious use of spells of destruction, physical mop up, a shit load of paperwork and then hitting the local bars to relax and celebrate.

Now though, faced with an enemy that they could delay, at best, it involved throwing their lives away while the rest of the Association scrambled to contact one of the Devil Kings. The last reports they received, as they rode their choppers to the Nerima Ward, was that the closest Campione they were trying to get a hold of, the Black Prince Alec, was sadly in a technological dead zone, out of reach of any phone. Mystical means of contact was also out, due to a Campione's resistance to magic that prevented a message being sent directly to him and was not at a fixed address where they could send one and was not accompanied by anyone who could receive a message in his place and give it to the Prince.

In short, Japan was currently dead in the water and could only start bailing their buckets until help could arrive.

It was a grim way to start the New Year for the Japanese, and it didn't look like it would get any better.

All they could do... was Hope.

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Ranma was not having a good day.

Having to do deal with his, unwanted, Chinese fiancee being turned into one of those f-furry little demons, permanently, by a massive, ghostly f-furry d-devil unless she kissed him within the confines of the kami-damned _temple_, of all things, devoted to the little demons she was trapped in, with the tomboy and the duck along for the ride?

Par for the course, even if it was ludicrous, irritating and scary as all hell.

Facing down an inhumanly beautiful and not-so-human woman, that practically breathed power, so many orders of magnitude above even the Old Letch or the Ghoul it wasn't funny, that the the weak _male_ spiritual d-devil that had become, capable of magic, strong too if he/she managed to shut up the Tomboy in full on ranting gorilla mode, and tearing up the temple like it was going out of style with a simple deep roar, that had no business coming from the lips of the woman?

...Eh, he had seen weirder. Tarou was a perfect example.

But, weirder or not, this was more serious than any fight he had had before. That last attack, he shivered slightly as he (semi)gracefully landed in a corner of the courtyard, close to the outer wall, his training in aerial martial arts allowing him to recover easily from the buffeting winds, dumped Akane to the ground and quickly tossed the devilish Shampoo to her, he may not have seen it but he could feel and hear the damage being done by it.

That attack, whatever it was, was aimed to maim and kill.

"Get out of here, Tomboy," he spoke to the still mute and furious teenage woman, her anger making her ignore the rampant damage. Contrary to his usual laid back manner of speech, this voice held the inflection of steel, of command. He needed room to fight at his best against this adversary, the Tomboy and Shampoo being here limited her moves as she would have to protect them instead of focusing on fighting the woman. Something that would prove deadly against her, he was sure of that.

Typically, Akane refused to listen, dumping the comatose form of the little critter that was Shampoo into the corner, away from the field of combat, and charged the woman with a voiceless roar of rage, a glowing red mallet suddenly appearing in her hands as she did so.

"Akane!" yelled Ranma, blurring towards her in an attempt to stop her foolish head-on charge, something no martial artist worth their salt would do against an obviously powerful and unknown foe.

"**_Submit_**."

That twisted voice rose again from the woman's throat, a predatory smile on her face visible as she did so, like an animal enjoying its preys futile struggles.

Futile being the operative word.

Ranma watched in a strange sort of disbelief as he saw Akane seem to trip over herself mid-run, falling to her knees and planting her face into the broken stones. He knew she was clumsy at times (read: all the time, except when ice-skating) but she wasn't _that_ clumsy.

More evidence of magic at work, damn it.

"Don't bother struggling, girl," the poisonous cultured tones of the not-woman spoke, treading lightly toward the prostrate Tendo, her bare feet bringing her toward the struggling girl, "I, who rules over all that is feminine, will not permit your eyes to ever see the sky once more."

A white glow around an outstretched hand and a small bronze blade appeared in it, thin and less than a foot long, but holding a subtle majesty about it, as if it were a king's crown, albeit a crown of war. Ranma could feel the power of it even as he stood surprised again, before horrified understanding graced his features, making him blur into action.

"At least, not until your head has parted from your shoulders," these last silky tones graced the still night air as the sword, or rather throwing sword, shot from her hand, faster than anything Ranma had seen from mortal men, simply by the woman letting go of the blade.

It's aim? The soft neck of Akane Tendo.

Thankfully, Ranma was already moving, and closer to Akane than the not-woman, and managed to grab Akane roughly and leap back as the sword impaled the ground where she had been.

"What the hell?" he began yelling at the being, as he knew no proper name to describe her, before him as he landed, beyond irate at her callous actions, "there was-!" he interrupted his yells as he moved again, leaping high with a limp Akane in his arms, some instinct telling him, screaming at him, that there was danger. His eyes locked on to the ground as it cracked and splintered around where the sword had struck and, to his disbelief, the glowing sword leapt from the stones, seemingly of it's own accord, and soared at break neck speeds towards the airborne duo. Ranma's experienced eyes could pick out the, impossibly, altering trajectory of it. Changing course in tune to his and Akane's own movements, as if to keep itself square on it's target, Akane's limp and soft and, more importantly, vulnerable throat.

_If_ it was a mundane martial artist that had leapt...

**If** it was normal fighter moving in the air...

If it was a common warrior that was burdened by the dead weight of the teenage woman...

**_If_** it was the average man that faced the speeding projectile...

Then Akane's life would have been forfeit, then and there.

But, if if there was anything that Ranma Saotome _couldn't_ be called, it was normal.

"Ha!" Ranma cried loudly, expelling the breath from his airborne, and burdened, body, twisting his body into shapes almost incomprehensible to mortal man, drawing the vulnerable, awake, and yet unresponsive, form of the Tomboy behind him, as his deceptively powerful leg shot out, just so, striking the flat of the soaring blade with his battle hardened shin, sending it pinwheeling to the side, losing it's movement towards it's target from the blow. For the moment.

Ranma landed gingerly on a, thankfully, unbroken part of the open court, with his fiancee on his back, and keeping an eye on the amused and irritated woman and the magical sword. He grimaced slightly as his right leg throbbed from the pain it had endured. The sword was more than just magical, in his opinion, and maybe not even truly a sword. Even a magical sword, in his experience, was still a sword and could be countered like one, such as warping the metal it was made of with a powerful blow, thus ruining the balance and disabling some of the more precise techniques he had seen from swordsmasters in the past. It all came back to that it still just a weapon, something created and forged.

And it was easier to destroy than to create.

But that weapon... it had endured a strike that contained a hell of a lot of his own strength, enough to break metal if he was of a mind to. Instead of breaking, like it should have by all rights, it was merely flung off course and gave him what he suspected was a deeply bruised, or maybe cracked, tibia, thereby limiting his precious mobility, to an extent.

And the flying blade, eager for the blood that it's mistress desired, was now chasing them down again.

"Kuso!" he swore harshly, looking for a possible solution as the sword whistled toward him, aiming for the throat of the Tomboy, even if it had to pass through him first.

It was the thing he had noticed as a possible weakness. It aimed for it's target directly, no matter the obstacles before it that may block it, like an arrow shot from a bow or a bullet from a gun. Ranma thought it wasn't consciously directed by the woman, only let go with a target in mind, like an eager hunting dog chasing down a fox.

And, with the way he held the Tendo girl, her head hanging upside down facing his back, it would have to go through him first.

He knew taking to the air again, as he generally did, would be a mistake. He needed to able to move on a dime, ducking, dodging and weaving, in order to avoid that hungry blade and thus needed the friction and grasp of the earth.

Striking it away, like he had done before, would, at best, only be a delaying tactic. It required the majority of his strength just to knock it off course and, even then, had caused him more damage than he had expected, for only a few brief moments of respite. He would have to turn himself into a walking bruise, injuring himself with each successful strike, to defend but would be unable to gain an advantage on the battlefield, thus leading to an inevitable defeat through attrition.

He needed a plan, one that didn't involve turning himself into paste, something that could allow him to overcome this obstacle...

...

_Obstacle_...

Ranma was hit by a brainwave. A plan, an idea, a thought so foolish, so insane, that even contemplating it was sheer madness.

But, considering the current events taking place, he didn't really have any other option.

Instead of positioning himself to leap, to move, to run. Ranma Saotome squared his shoulders and fell into the Horse stance.

Readying himself to the take the blow, head-on.

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The [Lady of the Golden Tortoise] watched with her mismatched eyes widening in surprise.

Instead of readying himself to move, the foolish man-child was willing to take the blow head-on.

Perhaps he thought that he could halt the blade if he grabbed it? Foolishness. The only hands that could touch it were her own. As a symbol of her royal power, proven by contest, the blade would always reach it's target, not stopping until it achieved it's commanded goal.

It was commendable of the boy for even managing to get the insolent wench away from the first strike, and even more so that he was actually able to strike it away from the second advance, something she had never encountered before.

But she doubted he would, or even could, do that again. One of her Authorities was easily able to pick out the general health of her opponent, all the better to know which plague could do the most damage to them, and was able to see the cracked tibia.

He would not be as fast as before, nor as easily able to evade her swift flying sword.

She watched in anticipation as it approached, swift and darting, almost invisible to the naked eye of mortals, aiming for the soft throat of the wench.

Which was hidden behind the stout, and foolish, heart of the boy.

It was almost upon them, a swift death in motion, when she felt a stirring in the air, a tinge of power, similar to a spell being cast.

She looked harder at the man-child, burdened by the weight of the slovenly mortal wench, as he extended his hands forward, as if he was going to try and _grasp_ the blade, and glowing a soft blue-white light.

She giggled softly to herself. Fool! Idiot! Imbecile! Using a _spell_ to fight an _Authority_?! Truly the boy was doomed, especially as it was nowhere near the power to even slightly combat it.

The bronze sword glinted beneath the moon as it reached for the young man's heart, which stood in the way of the girl's throat.

A blinding flash lit up the world a stark white as the boy, futilely, reached for the her \[Sovereign Sword\], the glowing hands seeming to touch the blade, even as his face was lined with determination. She felt something, like a breeze across her face, dance within the core of her power, an invisible hand reaching for her heart.

Then, her sword vanished.

The [Lady of the West] blinked in astonishment and complete disbelief, staring at the suddenly kneeling, quaking and convulsing boy.

She couldn't feel her sword.

She couldn't sense it.

Her Authority was gone.

Her [Sword] was gone. _Her_ [Sword] was _gone_.

A slowly rising anger, nay an _all consuming_ **RAGE**, one that had been slowly building since the insolent, blue-haired _whore_ had spoken, since she had been saved by the _boy_, since the boy had _dared_ to strike her right to rule, which had been hidden by her apparent amusement at the futility of their actions...

**_ERUPTED_**.

"_Youuuuu_!" she hissed blackly at the still convulsing martial artist that had dared to touch, dared to _steal_, her [Sword], "You dare!" She roared loudly, her body tense and willing to spring upon her foe and destroy them utterly, her previous noblewoman's demeanour abandoned utterly in the face of such a slight to her pride, at the thought of a mere thief avoiding her giving out justified punishment, much like that damnable Ape.

In her anger, her eyes flashed brightly with power, incandescent and harmful to look at directly with mortal eyes, her fangs got longer as her face became a visage of rage, of a beast. She slowly began to glow a bright white, loosing her current form as she did so, and began to lose cohesion, to expand.

To change.

Her shapely two legs became four, bestial, massive and solid with muscle and the great claws already unsheathed, ready to rend and tear. Her beautifully shaped torso, a perfect hourglass, fell forward and broadened, muscles bulging and rippling as a wash of white striped fur ran over it. A long feline tail, previously hidden by the billowing and many-layered robes, came into sight, a counter balance for the solid body allowing it agility many had never seen, let alone achieved.

But it was the face that was most disturbing.

Gone was the porcelain visage of unearthly beauty, replaced black-striped blinding white fur, a short muzzle with teeth the size of daggers bared and small, tufted round ears erect and pointing. Devilish golden eyes looked down at it's prey from where stood, it's ears easily would have touched the ceiling of a two storey home had it been beneath a roof and easily took up a large portion of the courtyard

Raising it's head toward the stars high above, it let out an earth shaking roar into the night, a second windstorm for the night erupting as it did so.

The [White Tiger] had awakened, and it was far from happy.

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Homura was scared shitless at the sight of the absolutely massive [White Tiger] from where he stood upon a roof of a building overlooking the temple yard.

He had got to the scene of the Emergence a small time ago, and wasn't foolish enough to dare enter the battle ground.

He watched as the Heretic Goddess, easily identified by the sheer amount of power he could sense, was about to cut down the blue-haired young woman, with a flying sword of all things, in reparation for the stupid girl's comments and attempted attacks.

Homura was more approving of the boy who, if he wasn't mistaken, was the local chaos magnet himself, Ranma Saotome, thereby making the hot-tempered idiot of a girl child, the infamous Akane 'Man-hater' Tendo. He had held back, not attempting to attack, until he was able to get more information on his opponent. Smart thinking if this was an average situation, but against a Heretic God, it was the very height of stupidity to even think about fighting or attacking.

He had been shocked when the lad had managed to grab the girl in time and get her out of the line of fire, his speed was not something he had seen before, easily outstripping some of the more accomplished warriors amongst the Committee.

His mouth dropped open as the boy managed to fend off, even if it was just temporarily, the force of the Heretic's Authority with a mere kick, even if he had injured himself in the process if the way he landed was any indication.

He almost screamed at the boy's stupidity as the young man took a solid stance, as if to take the incoming sword of death in the chest.

He choked as he felt the force of the boy's power as he summoned it to his hands, wordlessly and a degree of strength he had not expected.

He practically stumbled over his own jaw as he saw the boy somehow, impossibly, overpower the Goddess's Authority when the flying sword came into contact with the boy's hands and visible power, and vanished.

That should not have been possible. Only the strongest of mortal magic, used by the pinnacle of magi, could have been able to affect a Divine Authority, which that glow about the boy, even if it was admittedly powerful, was most certainly not.

And yet, he had.

Not without consequence certainly, given the boy had almost immediately fallen to the ground, thrashing and convulsing, with the limp form of Akane Tendo roughly tossed aside. Homura suspected the reason for such violent reactions may have been due to the boy's own, not inconsiderable, power clashing with a Heretic's own Authority, that the foolish boy had, maybe, stored within his own body, despite the impossibility of it all. A struggle of power as it were, like a human's body rejecting an incompatible replacement organ.

Only a Campione could hope to contain Divine power within their own body without the consent of the deity, or the gift to do so like Lady Ena Seishuuin with her Divine Possession.

Though he wondered how exactly the boy had done to do so, most of his thoughts were taken up by the Goddess's enraged reaction.

A blaze of light, almost blinding him, and the next moment, in the inhumanly Goddess's place, was an immense [White Tiger] roaring it's challenge to the sky, the top of it's head on equal grounds with the roofs of the temple, before turning it's large feline head toward the it's prey, a hungry glint in the golden eyes.

Homura was glad that a Heretic God couldn't be seen by a normal human, due to the Divine Space that they exude, contorting reality to their will, or they would have had a Devil of a time explaining the existence of a white tiger, multiple stories tall, attacking Tokyo.

All they needed was a big-ass lizard, or better yet, _a dragon_, and they could make their own Godzilla movie.

"Fuck me!" Homura breathed harshly, sweating heavily in fear, frantically looking at the skies, trying to spot any of the Committee's forces that were supposedly enroute.

Unsurprisingly, he couldn't spot them, it would take time for them to arrive, this warning going out only minutes earlier and, despite the destruction, and the boy fighting this Divine Being, not enough time had passed for them get here.

Leaving him powerless to help.

All he could do, was watch, powerlessly, as the \[White Tiger\] prowled forward, eyes alight with rage and hunger, towards the helpless martial artists.

"...Damn it!"

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Ranma was in pain.

Pain beyond imagining. More than a beating at the hands of his Pops or his rivals, than the Tomboy's cooking.

Even more than the _Pit_.

All because of the damn _Sword_.

When he had seen the approach of the Sword, aiming for his heart, and consequently Akane's throat, he had been reminded of Mousse and his Hidden Weapons technique.

Ranma had seen the move enough, felt the fluctuations in Ki enough, that he could make a guess on how the technique worked.

Contrary to belief, it was not just storing items cleverly within his robes, otherwise he would not have been able to perform it as a duck. It involved engulfing the item to be stored _and_ the immediate atmosphere around with their Ki and then taking the space it would be stored, saturating with their Ki and metaphysically expanding it, and then creating a line of power between the atmosphere around the object and the metaphysical space as it expanded. This then created a vacuum-like effect that drew the object into the meta-space, thus storing it away.

All of this happening so fast, as to be almost simultaneous.

Retrieval of items was just as simple, but in reverse, saturating empty air where the item would appear and expanding the space, while linking with the meta-space which held the object, and the object itself, and _compressing_ the meta-space, making the object forced through the 'Ki-tube' and back into existence in real space.

When Ranma had figured out how Mousse had done that, he couldn't help but be impressed. A little.

The amount of Ki, Ki-control and experience needed to pull it off fast enough and skilfully enough in a battle situation, and still keep an eye out and be able to react to battle stimuli was almost out of this world.

If Mousse wasn't such a blatant idiot, he would have been a lot more dangerous than he already was with that technique.

There were drawbacks, of course, just like everything else. The first being the amount of Ki required. The Hidden Weapons technique required a _constant upkeep_ of Ki to keep the meta-space in existence. If they lost the link, completely, even for just a moment, their access to that meta-space would forever be closed, thus losing any weapons they had stored within it and permanently losing access to the portion of their Ki that made up the meta-space, as the meta-space still existed but was unable to accessed, creating a loop in their Ki which would stay with them forever, unless there was a secret way to reopen it, something that Ranma doubted Mousse knew or the Old Ghoul would be willing to part with, not without a hefty price. Ranma suspected part of the training was somehow forming a way to unconsciously emit Ki in a certain way, even while sleeping, in order to keep the meta-space in existence.

Furthermore, a two-fold problem was also there. The amount of Ki needed for the meta-space was proportional to the amount and type of items within it. A living being can be stored, explaining that damn exploding egg laying chicken, but required more Ki to store in comparison to a kitchen knife or a dagger, Magical items too, he suspected, but he had yet to see Mousse do so, either because he lacked access to one or, and this was more likely considering how the Joketszoku worked in his experience, the Ki required would be _outrageous_.

The second part of that, and just as nasty, was that all of that Ki, the upkeep, the summoning and what-have-you, was locked up in using the Hidden Weapons style, leaving little other Ki for more mundane purposes like physical enhancement and other, more basic, techniques.

Ranma had been, secretly, practising the move, hoping to find out it's secrets and weaknesses, so he could end the fights with Duck-boy faster. He wouldn't dare use it against anyone, not until it was perfected, to his standards, otherwise the Joketsuzoku, with Mousse leading the way, may just come down on his head for, in effect, 'stealing' their Arts. Hopefully he could mitigate by offering something in return and he wasn't one to steal the Arts of another, despite what happened with Ryouga.

He, technically, didn't steal the idea, which wasn't his own in the first place, but instead adapted the idea and created his own technique.

Either way, he normally he wouldn't have used Hidden Weapons in a fight. But this wasn't a fight, this wasn't a spar.

This was a battle, where the only one who won, was the one still alive.

If he wanted to survive, to keep Akane amongst the living, he would have to use it, even if it was imperfect.

And hope to heaven above that it worked.

Waiting for the right moment, his hands glowing brightly with power, he snapped out grasping the sword blade briefly, leaving a set of two parallel cuts from the extremely sharp blade on his palms, and pushed an immense amount of Ki into it, linking it to a meta-space just large enough to hold it and letting it flow into it, small sigh or relief escaping, and then letting go of the link.

It was about then that everything went to Hell for him.

When he let go of the link, he was instantly bombarded with pain, like his veins were suddenly filled with acid, burning him away from the inside out, even worse than what the Tomboy's cooking could do. This cause him to be thrown to the ground, his body thrashing and twisting in an effort to dull the pain.

He could no longer view the outside world, his world consisting only of pain and agony as he writhed on the broken ground.

He could dimly feel a foreign energy, alien and old, as it forced it's way through his arm's Ki channels, seeming to tear them apart as it moved through him, aiming for his heart.

Even wracked with pain, he realised what had happened, and cursed magic vehemently.

The Sword he had stored away, was still attempting to achieve it's original goal, Akane's death, and since he was in the way, it was passing through him in order to achieve it. In addition, the damned magic that made up the blade, which was beyond potent and powerful, was clashing with his Ki, literally tearing his soul apart as it passed through.

In his haste to save Akane, he had effectually doomed himself, as it required him to somehow reopen the meta-space, loosing the dangerous sword on it's mission once more, for this to stop affecting him. Something that he lacked the knowledge to do.

All he could do was convulse and thrash as the pain went up another dozen notches, as the magic burrowed it's way through his soul like a malignant worm devouring him from the inside out.

As his mind teetered on the bridge of insanity, so similar to the Pit, from the pain, he thought he began to hallucinate.

His eyes no longer saw outside world, nor were they painted with crimson tinge of pain and agony. Instead he could only see a white field, was in the white field, the pain of foolish move lessened ever so slightly, empty of everything but three figures. Two of them battling each while the third sat off to side, watching them.

The watcher was easily recognisable, seeing her in the mirror after he was splashed by cold water. His female form sat quietly, indian-style, as she watched the other two fight. But there was a difference to her, seen even amidst the pain. The way see she sat, the way she cocked her head to keep an eye on the battle, and all the other little motions that made a person who they are, all screamed feminine, unlike his own that yelled, to everyone who was observant enough, that she was a male,

The two fighting figures were different.

One was, surprisingly, a blank suit of armour, similar to those worn by Chinese warriors during the Warring States Era, if he remembered correctly. It was moving and dodging the blows of it opponent, before slashing out with a long bronze sword, like an enlarged version of the one he had already stopped, in turn with great skill and precision.

But, it's most intriguing feature, was that it was empty. No figure, man or woman, was within it, making this 'toy-soldier' something to be wary of.

But that wariness paled in comparison to the last figure.

Ice blue slitted eyes glared a the 'toy', the owner of them lashing out with a large paw, claws extended, before twisting sideways before a sword stroke could do little more than ruffle the striped fur of it's neck and roared out a challenge and angry declaration at the 'toy'.

It was great white tiger.

Some dim part of him wanted to curl up and cower or run in fear, but this fear buried beneath the ungodly pain and the surreality of the entire situation.

He gazed upon the tiger, for the first time seeing the majesty and strength of them, so like his own, instead of feeling terror. It's coat was matted with blood, obviously injured by the bronze blade, but still it stood, still it fought.

It was a mirror of him, he realised. It was what he could be, what he was in the core of his being, despite what he Pops had accomplished with the Nekoken.

He needed no other thoughts, his body, his spiritual body, that was still wracked with pain, leapt to the assistance of the tiger on instinct alone.

Working in perfect sync, as if they had done this hundreds of times before, tiger and man drove back the armour and sword. When Ranma attacked it front on, hammering away with hundreds of blows and dodging the counters, the tiger went for it's flanks, his, and he was most definitely a he, fangs tearing some of the steely flesh from it. When it turned to the tiger, Ranma cracked the armour further, before it returned attention to him.

As they put the armour through the blender of attacks, changes began to manifest on the bodies of the tiger and man. The man became a tiger and the tiger, a man. They flickered between each form, both glowing the same incandescent light blue. Eventually, the armour was thrown down, the sword flying from it's grip as Ranma slammed his clawed fist straight through the breastplate where heart would have been and the tiger managing to clamp his powerful jaws around the metallic throat and tore the helm from the shoulders, ending the fight as the armour went limp.

The white tiger, bloodied, tired but unbeaten, let out a roar of victory as the human form of Ranma panted heavily, with a slight grin on his face, and his knuckles bloodied from the force he had to use to break through the armour. To his surprise, despite his tired and injured state, he could feel the pain caused by the damnable sword seem to lessen, but not disappear.

A moment passed as the two victors stared each other in the eyes over the body of their slain foe. Blue slits meet piercing sapphire blue. Ranma could see the heart of this magnificent being, the very core of its make up. There was a desire for challenge, to fight, to win, to be ever victorious, to know, within their heart of hearts, that they were truly 'the best'. There was a feeling of nobility, of honour, of sincerity, of keeping an oath no matter how hard the struggle, until their dying breath and beyond. There was a desire for freedom, to be unchained, unfettered by the trappings of man and society, a wandering warrior.

Deeper within, he could see the sorrow, the rage, the sheer unadulterated anger, directed toward someone that was not himself. He could feel the pain, the fear, the hunger, the madness that it had gone through, within a deep pit.

He was the Tiger, the Tiger was Him. Through a mirror darkly, he peered upon himself.

These two beings both came out of their respective trances, each of them knowing the other better than they knew themselves. They knew what this fight represented and knew that, outside of this dream within a dream, danger, powerful and formidable, awaited, stronger than either of them currently were.

They understood, that their life, their very survival, depended on the other. With this understanding, with their knowledge on the very heart of the other, despite their pride, they knew what they had to do.

Ranma grinned slightly, extending a still blood covered hand. The Tiger rumbled deeply, eager for action, and met the hand with his own head.

The red-haired girl, who had only sat and watched this series of events, smiled slightly as the other two figures became alight in a blue flame, burning away the wrecked armour and leaving only a sword quelled by the twin powers, which then began swirl around them, a firestorm of azure flame that engulfed and hid them from her view, before it _exploded_.

The white space, empty save for three figures and a sword, was consumed by the expanding flame, somehow avoiding the unmoving female, who giggled slightly as it passed, seeming to caress her gently, not causing harm.

The girl watched as a figure, bathed in the azure light of power, glanced at her with bright blue eyes, grinning slightly and winking before it faded from her view, returning to the world of Man.

Leaving only an outright laughing girl child and a floating bronze sword with a white expanse.

"Good luck," the girl whispered to empty air, a grin on her face, before she lay down next to the floating blade, returning to her rest, until the time was right.

Until the Lord of Chaos rose.

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The[White Tiger] prowled towards it's prey.

The _mongrel_ that had dared to take an Authority that belonged to it, much like those pathetic Godslayers. It may not be able to vanquish one of them at present, as it seemed that they were too cowardly to approach it's magnificence. But, after it had dealt with these filthy mortals, it would make sure to hunt them down, one by one, and make them endure agonies the exceeded even the [Five Punishments].

But first, she needed to rid this world of someone who had attempted to become one of those ... _Abominations_... without the aid of the Witch. He was too dangerous to live.

Oh, and the insolent wench as well.

Her muzzle glared down at the still quivering form. A pity, he would have made a handsome consort in her opinion.

Her massive paw rose back, ready to crush the forms of the mortal bugs beneath her, and then she slammed it down.

BOOOM!

The earth shook beneath the force of her strength, crushing the great stones that made up the floor of temple, and the insignificant forms of the mortal worms with it.

The Tiger growled in satisfaction, having crushed the troublesome mortals, before turning away and approaching the walls of the compound. Perhaps wreaking some havoc would draw out those power thieves?

The Tiger had only taken a couple of steps before it felt a blinding pain run up the back of it's right hind leg, causing it to roar in pain and rage. Angrily it turned to the source, only to feel a deep slash tear at it's front left leg.

From there, the [White Tiger] could only feel pain. Slash after slash, cut after cut appeared on it's body. The assailant was never seen by the immense Divine being, obviously too small and too fast for the Beast to catch even a glimpse of.

The [White Tiger] could do nothing but endure this death by a thousand cuts, waiting for the right moment to retaliate to appear.

At least, that was the assailant thought, only to be rudely disabused of the notion as, with a thundering roar, immense slicing winds, capable of stripping any average man's flesh from their bones, erupted from the feline body, blowing the warrior away, tumbling and twisting, into the wall of the courtyard opposite the Divinity.

The [White Tiger] snarled hatefully as it turned again to face the one who had dared to injure it, to mar it's flesh, to make it bleed. The feline's golden eyes narrowed in surprise and rage at the form of it's attacker.

It was that damned boy-thief again. Somehow he had managed to survive daring to violate it's Authority and evade the punishing blow from it's paw.

He felt different though. His body was still injured and hunched over in pain and tiredness, large wounds on the boy's arms in particular, making them look like they had been frozen and then used as practice for novice warriors with live blades, that still bled heavily and the tibia was now fractured, possibly from the muscle spasms. His energy levels, from what the massive predator could sense, had also taken a dive, probably spending it like water in order to even attempt to fight it's magnificence before now.

But the biggest difference was the mortal's eyes.

Those piercing sapphire eyes were not filled wariness or a disguised fear. Nor were they filled with a desire to protect the weak bitch of a girl.

They were filled with a determined light, a desire, a _need_, to fight. His eyes burned with azure flames with a lust for battle. A mocking smirk graced his handsome face as he peered up at the [White Tiger], enraging the beast.

How dare the mortal mock it's power! The boy is on the verge of death, and even now stand challengingly before me, even now laughs at me soundlessly?!

A thunderous growl erupted from it's immense throat, a threat, a promise, a declaration of it's bloodthirsty intentions.

This boy would die!

The [White Tiger] crouched, preparing to strike.

The boy slid into a stance, ready to move.

A moment passed wordlessly, golden murderous orbs meeting determined sapphire jewels.

As one, they leapt into action.

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Ranma quickly, and barely, dodged the immense paw strike, it's speed belied by it's size, with a leap to the side and slashed out his hand. Wicked glowing claws extending from it carving lines of blood in the flesh of his target, before he blurred away as the immense predator roared again.

His feet and Ki carried him at speeds he had never experienced before as he ran beneath the large body of the beast. Not that he could remember anyway.

An odd sound, like stirring grass, met his ears for a moment and swiftly made him shoot away, a ball of destructive wind hitting him where he had been from the fur that covered the belly of the beast

Ranma had never felt this alive before, not even when he had first managed to consciously use his Ki.

"Ha!" he yelled as he slashed at one one the back legs with the claws adorning his hands, hoping to reach the hamstrings or the tendons of the beast.

Blood flew, the tiger roared and lashed out with it's large tail, blindly attempting to strike the pest that had injured it again and again.

Ranma merely rolled under it and burst for the wall of one the few still intact buildings as the large, large, large feline whirled around, knocking down and crushing more walls as it did.

His senses, speed and reflexes were through the roof, his body acting almost before he could register incoming threats or moves to perform. His strength was increased as well, he could feel that, but wasn't quite as useful in this battle, save for longer and higher leaps.

But it was his Ki that would have made him wonder, if he wasn't in a life-or-death battle.

It was still at a low level, thanks to his use of it on the flying sword, but it seemed more wild, to him, as compared to the solid dependable strength of his previous Ki. It was now more potent, stronger, eagerly leaping to his command and humming with unbridled power, wanting nothing more than to break out.

Like a wild horse running free. Like a fierce tiger in battle.

These -he couldn't really call them emotions- urges, maybe even instincts, drove him in battle against the immense white feline, making him strike to injure, to maim.

To kill.

Of course, that was easier said than done. The Tiger's size, alone, made it difficult to make a major injury to it. It's solid flesh, feeling more like a slab of steel, not helping matters. Add in it's swift reactions and the ability throw winds strong and sharp enough to cleave through the compound's walls and strip his flesh from his bones if he hadn't reinforced his body with his new Ki...

This was going to be one _HELL_ of a fight.

Since he didn't think his strength was enough, not with the injuries he had, that he tried to ignore, he tried to go with speed.

A death by a thousand cuts was his strategy. One of the slashes was not even an inconvenience to the devilish beast, but, as the cuts mounted up, the Tiger, would get slower, weaker, letting Ranma have a shot at ending this with a slash at the well protected throat as his instincts clamoured for him to do.

But, as they say, 'no plan survives contact with the enemy'.

If Ranma wasn't already injured and tired. It would have been a good strategy, despite the endless gulf of power between the two adversaries.

But Ranma knew he couldn't hold out, not for long. Even with the boost, even with his skill, even with his experience. He knew he was losing, and would even lose completely in a battle of attrition. Heck, he was already running his Ki on the verge of the red-zone, the place where his basic KI, the life-force put aside just to keep his body functioning, dwelled.

Even if he enjoyed, was ecstatic in fact, the battle, the struggle, this contest of strength, power and might, he had to end it soon, somehow.

He wasn't willing to greet his ancestors yet.

His feet met the wall first, making him use his momentum to burst of it, like rubber ball, avoiding the sharp stream of air as it struck his previous spot.

Ranma was now facing the Tiger head on, the last move of the beast managing to catch a glimpse of him for it to home in on.

It was do or die now.

Ranma hit the ground and leapt forward, faster than he ever could have before, towards the seemingly smirking Tiger, making warning bells ring in the pig-tailed boys head.

The massive bestial chest expanded as it drew a breath, before opening it's massive jaws and **_ROARING_**.

The sheer sound hit the martial artist like a physical blow, knocking him backward and forcing him to dig in his heels in order to stay standing under the assault of audible bestial rage.

But it was the follow up that sent his alarm bells ringing so hard that he couldn't hear anything else.

As the beast roared mightily, a massive orb of glowing power began to build inside it's open jaws, growing steadily larger as the roar went on. Ranma's Ki senses reeled back in disbelief at the power contained inside it.

"_Great Kami_," he thought, unbelievingly, "_there is enough power in that to level several city blocks!_"

Any thoughts he had of possibly dodging that orb were almost non-existent. Not only was it almost impossible for him to move in the face of the roar, but it was unlikely he would be able to get out of that monstrous technique's range. Not to mention that, with his back to the Temple's gate, if he did dodge it, the many shops, stores and homes outside of the Temple would be destroyed, as well as the Temple itself.

And the occupants with them.

**NOT. ACCEPTABLE.**

His mind scrambled. desperately for an idea, the high of a good fight leaving him as the possibility of huge casualties dawned on him. He couldn't but be thankful that the confrontation, so far, had been contained to the temple, for the most part. He was also just as grateful he had been able to put the Chinese duo and the Tomboy in a safe place, away from the battle.

Though that safe place would be one any longer if the Tiger managed to fire off that damned nuke of an attack.

'_Come on, Ranma, old boy, think!_!' he growled mentally to himself as he crossed his arms in front of his face, shielding it from the ungodly howling roar, '_it's like a massive Ki blast, bigger than any Pig-boy or I could pull off, but seems to have a spiralling motion to it, making it stronger, more stable. Something I should try out with my own... if I survive that is._

_'I don't have the raw power to stop it, not even if I was at the top of my game with the boost from the Neko-ken, and definitely not now, not if it leaves the jaws. That means I have to stop __**before**__ it's released!_

_'Meaning I have to somehow get through the buffeting winds that could tear me apart, get within range of it's claws, __**which can tear me apart**__, destroy the ball of annihilation, __that would tear me apart__, and kill the over-sized flea bag, __**WHICH WILL TEAR ME APART!**_**!**'

...

...

"Fuck my life," he sighed as he watched the 'Ball of Power' increase even more, to the size of a small home, in trepidation, "this is like the Ulti- mate Moxi- bustion..." Ranma's voice trailed off as he remembered.

'_Weakness... Spiral... Power... Wind...'_

For the second time that night, a brain wave hit him. It was stupid, it was ludicrous, it was mad beyond all reasoning.

But it was the only shot he had.

So, even as the heavy winds tore at his clothes and flesh, somehow remaining standing in the face of it all...

Ranma's soul turned to Ice.

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The [White Tiger] could taste victory in it's grasp.

The boy's power was waning, despite the showing he had done in injuring him, they were minor, if painful, wounds. They would not hinder it's reign of destruction and would heal in time.

The [White Tiger] had seen his type before, noble, self-sacrificing. Always willing to put their bodies on the line for those that could not fight.

Foolishness! Stupidity! If one cannot protect themselves, then one does not deserve protection. The strong live, the weak die or serve. That is the way of things. This Tiger had yet to see one of these fools ever truly prevail, often seeing them fall at the first hurdle.

This foolish male one will be no different.

Though, the Tiger was willing to help it along, concentrating the destructive power of the wind and the sheer strength of Steel within it's maw, even as it roared, it began to create sheer [Force], spinning clockwise as to maintain it's integrity.

It was held together it's boat of clay so many years ago. It was what made it able to fight long and hard, crushing it's opponents before it. It was a symbol of it's power. It's will to destroy, to crush, to conquer made manifest.

This mere stripling of a boy, no matter his own power, considerable as it was by mortal standards, would not be able to defy it, not without letting the mortals in their city below pay the ultimate price.

The boy was trapped, between duty and self-preservation.

The Tiger, experienced against this breed of warrior, knew which path the boy would choose. The thought of the boy's death made it's blood run hot, with his death, it's power could be reclaimed from the cooling corpse, once it was devoured

The Tiger suddenly lifted a mental eyebrow as the boy, with his dimly blue glowing arms, suddenly began, of all things, to dance.

It was not like any the Tiger had seen before, wild spinning gyrations, the blue glows of his arms trailing him like ephemeral ghosts. Perhaps the boy had gone mad from the realisation of his imminent defeat? It would not be the first time, the Tiger had seen it happen on numerous occasions, particularly amongst the most prideful of warriors.

The wild gyrations got faster and faster, the body seemed to blur becoming nothing more than a twister of red and black, trailed by lines of burning blue, as he stuck to one spot.

To the Beast's surprise, it could feel a slight chill, barely noticeable beneath the heat of his anger and power, but still present. It's golden eyes narrowed in slight suspicion. Obviously the boy was doing **something**, but for the life of it, the [Lord of the West] was unable to fathom the reason. Cold air would do nothing to it, the dance would do nothing.

It was confusing.

It peered deeper at the boy, still roaring, still gathering power, and was shocked.

The boy, who had barely been able to stand against his mighty roar, was now, by some dint of a miracle, advancing toward it.

The spinning kept getting faster and faster, one step forward became two, became five, became ten, each circuit making the boy move faster toward it.

The Tiger didn't know how, and didn't really care. It's own power would erase this speck of dirt from existence.

Only a few more moments, and it would erase this stain, this abomination that had dared to stand before the [West].

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Ranma was getting dizzy, feeling like he had put on one of those tyre swings he had seen in the more rural villages he and Pops had seen on their journey, and spun around quickly and seemingly endlessly.

He hadn't done it himself, Pops not believing that anything outside of the Art was worth doing, but had seen it done and wanted to do it himself, if only so could maybe make some friends.

He revised his opinion as the world seemed to become an endless stream of colours, even as he advanced on the humungous feline, it's massive white figure not easy to miss.

If he hadn't had the Soul of Ice up and running, he would have been blowing chunks by now.

Right now, he was attempting something that he never had before. A revision of the Hiryu Shoten Ha. A horizontal version, no less.

In order to cut back the roaring winds, which were influenced by the Tiger's rage and swirling power, he spun in the opposite direction with the Soul of Ice, creating a degree of nullification of the roar, thus allowing him to move forward. With each step, he spun faster and faster, making it easier and easier to advance, thus making able to spin even faster.

It was feedback effect, making him faster as he advance and spun.

Right now, he was almost running, twisting, full tilt toward the Tiger. His Ki was dropping like a stone and his body was tiring fast, it was only his will, his drive to win, that was keeping him in the game as he delved deeply into his Base Ki.

Finally, after what seemed to an age of struggle, his battered and torn body, unable to completely escape the effects of the powerful winds, managed to get in close enough to launch a final attack. One that, without doubt, would kill him.

He didn't want to die, none but the most desperate and pained truly do, but he had to follow the Code, something he had almost lost sight of when he was fighting this Beast.

'A Martial Artist Protects The Weak.'

These were the words that were hammered into him from the first day, the first hour, the first moment of his training.

His Pops may pay lip service to those six words, only enough to make him seem to be a decent person (Ranma momentarily laughed mentally at his Pops being called _decent_.), but, for Ranma, those words were a goal, a true belief, the very words he would attempt to live by.

Sometimes, a lot of the time, he lost sight of that goal, and his actions mirrored that fall into selfishness, but he at least tried, he kept persevering, making his way along that hard road. He would stumble, more than once or twice, but he picked himself up, dusted off his clothes and just kept walking towards that ideal, chasing it endlessly. Until, one day, he would grasp that enlightened Ideal, and stand as pillar that will support all those who came after him in pursuit of that self same goal.

He grinned wryly to himself as he readied his last attack. He would not reach that goal, not now, but he could pass on, not happily granted, but with pride, knowing that he saved many lives, at the cost of his own.

"Neko-ken revised," he whispered harshly as he was now just in front of the Tiger's jaws, it's claws, to his surprise, not attacking him. Well, he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

His legs, battered, slashed and barely holding him up, tensed tightly as his Ki, still cold and tranquil, skyrocketed as he grasped the last of his energy into one final move.

Powerful legs, on the edge of exhaustion, trained for aerial combat, exploded him upward, directly into the Ball of Power inside the Tiger's jaws. The hot winds, still swirling, caused by the Tiger's roar, attempted to swat him away fruitlessly. His own cone of cold power swirling around him like a protective cloak.

As Ranma Leapt upward, his body straightened out, like a human spear, his blue-white claws of Ki, gained from the tiger within himself, extended forwards as the point. Ranma was now a deadly missile aimed at the immense \[White Tiger\], poised to destroy.

Then he began to spin.

The spear became a flying drill, like a bullet spinning from the rifling within the muzzle of a gun. The penetrating power of the move increasing with the speed of the revolutions. A blue-white blade as the tip.

It was a suicidal move. It could only end in death form the user.

It was the only way to win.

When Ranma hit the Ball of Power, pain erupted along his body. His muscles and bones felt like they were turning into putty and his organs felt like they been crushed into a space smaller than a golf ball.

It was only for a moment. But, for Ranma, it felt like an eternity. Nonetheless, through inhuman determination, through sheer bloodymindedness, he managed to hold on, to keep his goal mind.

'_Protect The Weak.'_

That goal, that belief, allowed him to push through the pain, the Ball of Power, erupting out of the back of it.

And through the back of the Tiger's skull.

The claws, still spinning with their master, drilled through the skull of the massive 'King of Beasts', burning through flesh, blood and bone with equal ease, boosted by the potent Base Ki of Ranma 'Doesn't Lose' Saotome.

Ranma passed through the skull, erupting into open air, covered in the flesh and blood of his foe. His arms were now limp, as well as the rest of his body. Burnt and crushed almost beyond recognition by the [Force] of the [White Tiger].

"Panther's Piercing Fang," Ranma spoke silently, thickly, with a half burnt tongue, his last words naming the move that had slain a God.

Ranma couldn't feel anything but satisfaction. His Duty was done. His Victory was assured. Now, it was time to Rest.

As Ranma's eyes closed, as the darkness encroached, for a moment, he thought he saw a blinding flash of light.

Then he knew no more

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****Excerpt from the Italian mage Alberto Ricardo's Book, Demon King, 19th Century****

...To those who accomplished this formidable feat, I grant them the title of Campione – Godslayer – .

Among all virtuous readers, some will probably believe that I over-exaggerate with that title and frown, maybe others will think that I am making undue fuss over it.

However, I want to emphasize it, once again.

Campione – Godslayer – is a supreme ruler.

Since he can kill a celestial being, he can therefore call on the highly divine powers held by the gods.

Campione – Godslayer – is a lord.

Since the power to kill a deity is in their hands, they can therefore dominate the mortals on Earth.

Campione – Godslayer – is a devil.

Therefore of the entire humanity living on earth, those who have the power to oppose them do not exist!

**E**xcerpt from Japanese Reports Concerning the Verification of the new Campione, Beginning of the 21st Century****

In Chinese Myth, Xi Wangmu, was a Goddess with many complex attributes.

Originally she was known as the Queen Mother of the West, in ancient times, which the Chinese linked with the colour white, death, the sunset. Thus she was seen as a Ruler of the dead and tied to the Earth, making her a Mother Earth Goddess. She also known as the 'Lady of the Golden Tortoise' whose shell was used in ancient Chinese bone oracles.

She was often depicted as a wild woman, living on a mountain, with a tiger's teeth and a leopard's tail. Both of which were fearsome beasts to the people of the time. She was also rumoured to sit on the mountain, surrounded by beasts, and was brought food and water by three green birds and was rumoured to be 'good at roaring', enabling her to command the winds. This linked her to a strong wild element, similar to a 'mistress of beasts' that Artemis of Greek Myth was.

She was also known to mete out the [Five Punishments] of Chinese origin and was able to bring forth plague.

Her image was softened when the Daoist movement rose. Instead of a wild woman, there was a cultured matron, wise in the arts, and a holder of the path of Immortality due to her peaches which grew upon her mountain, ones that the Monkey King had dared to steal and eat at a banquet when he was not invited.

In this image, she was vaunted as a creator god, linked to the Jade Emperor through family ties, whether sister, daughter or mother, depending on the myth. She was the Ultimate Yin Principle, ruling over all that was Yin/Female and had ties to silk-culture.

She still retained a vestige of her wild days, however, as she was still depicted as surrounded with animals. She was also known as a possible love interest to many of the mythical emperors of China.

However, it was when the Daoist instituted the Five Animals that her nature was twisted.

In the west of ancient china, there was a tribe called the Ba. There ancestor god, Lin Jun, was a remarkable warrior, whose soul was said to have turned into a White Tiger upon his death and was fed the blood of the enemies of the Ba to make him stronger, thus leading to the White Tiger being associated with war and bloodshed.

This hardly conflicted, completely, with Xi Wangmu's base nature and thus both White Tigers, Xi Wangmu and Lin Jun, were combined to create Baihu, the White Tiger of the West, associated with the West, White, Autumn and the element Metal. As the Tiger was also the 'King of Beasts' within Asia, this further reinforced Xi Wangmu's nature.

The Daoist movement spread across the Chinese Empire and surrounding countries. Baihu, Byakko, Baekho, Bach Ho, all of these names were attributed to it, along with all the other attributes of White, West, Metal/Wind, Autumn and various others.

Xi Wangmu of the oldest and most well known deities in Asia.

It is with her death, that Ranma Saotome became the newest Campione

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Well folks, how did you like it?

I tried my best to make a good beginning. If you have any problems, please let me know.

I tried my best to make a good, firm, realistic link with the deity used so I hope you like it.

Please leave reviews.


	2. Chapter 2

Lord of Chaos

Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma 1/2 or Campione, which is a pity because I have a few dreams that require more than a bit of dough.

AN: Well it is good to see that my story is well received.

* * *

"Well now, aren't you an interesting child?" a soft girlish voice giggled, bubbly and joyous, "I have never seen such an intriguing soul."

Ranma could only feel lightness, no weight, no pain. It honestly surprised him, the journey his Pops had taken him on had left it's own lingering scars, physical and mental, so the fact he didn't feel any pain at all was quite unusual.

"You have been through the wars haven't you, my dear child?" the female said, softly and sympathetically, "your sire is quite a devilish man. Stupid as well. But I shall not complain, for without his stupidity, I wouldn't have a new child to mother."

Ranma was unable to see anything, his hearing was muted, hearing only what seemed to be soft melodies, wordless and somehow beautiful to the rough bred warrior. If this was death, then he thought it could be worse.

"You were also able to defeat the Lady of the West, a formidable foe. I was quite surprised to find that she had returned to her full strength. I had thought her lost to that weak feline form when her powers were sealed long ago by that old horse. Such an unpredictable god, much like yourself, in fact."

Ranma began to feel soft hands gently touching him, caressing him. His instincts, brought about by living with the Tendos (and Akane's temper) and being brought up, in the loosest sense of the words, by Genma, made him want to flinch away, to guard himself. His experience with touching was either combat, his father turning everything that seemed a harmless gesture of human affection into a doorway to pain (in other words, everything was combat), or a sign of upcoming punishment, thanks to Akane's twisted mindset that led her to believe that any female that gave him a gentle gesture was hitting on him, thus making him a pervert and a righteous target for her hammer.

"Fuuuun!" the voice emoted, "there is no need for you to shy away from me. No harm will come to you here."

Ranma could feel his senses come back online, growing sharper, returning to their full function.

"Still, you have a long road ahead of you, my son, as you chase your dream. It's twists and turns are hidden, even from my sight. It will feel lonely at times, but as a parting gift, before I announce you, this I assure you,

"_You Will Never Be Truly Alone_."

_Those words_, that he could now dimly hear, seemed profound. Powerful. A declaration of intent. More words of the same strength and authority followed.

" I, Pandora, the witch who brought forth all disasters and a shred of hope, do now declare this child to be my new son."

The soft hands now caress his face and warm lips touch his forehead. Was this what it was to be held by a mother?

"Let everyone present grant their blessing and their hatred to this child! The seventh Campione - possessing the destiny of the most chaotic of the devil kings, please bestow the sacred spell words upon this child!"

"By the black art that I and Epimetheus left behind this is the sacred birth of an illegitimate child, shrouded in darkness, born of a fool and a witch. A secret of usurpation only made possible through the sacrifice of a god.

His eyes managed to clear enough to see. He managed to see a blurred image, a sweet face, far too young for such a motherly tone, with pale purple hair. And such a warm smile.

"I, the all-giving woman Pandora, declare that you shall be reborn as a Campione. The god-slayer, the king of kings, the Campione."

The caressing hands halted over his heart, resting there, before they began to turn warm and, seemingly, begin to sink _into his chest_. That feeling was accompanied by the warmth spreading quickly through his body, surging in pulses, but not harming it.

The last words Ranma heard, before the white abyss and the youthful mother disappeared, were odd to him.

"Live, my son. And please take care of your little sister, would you?"

* * *

The woman crunched through the rubble of the destroyed temple, her eyes serious as she surveyed the damage done and carnage that was wrought.

"Walk me through what exactly happened, if you could Sato-san," the woman requested, kneeling down to examine the remains of the torri gates, the crimson pillars seemed to have been rubbed hard, peeling off the paint, before being sliced, multiple times. Her examination of the pieces showing the edges were perfectly smooth, not a bit out of place, and able to be reconnected together, appearing as if they weren't even separated in the first place.

The woman frowned. There were few spells able to make such a cut, and none were as able to cause widespread damage as what had hit the gate did.

Heretic Gods were truly frightening beings.

"Yes, Sayanomiya-sama," Sato Homura said as he followed the Sayanomiya family heir, "Roughly a few moments before midnight, I felt a shockwave of power and malice. Having been unfortunate enough to be present at a Heretic God event some years ago, I knew exactly what had happened. As per protocol, I reported it immediately and then made my way to the site of the emergence."

Kaoru, heir to the Sayanomiya, stood up again, her crimson red hair fluttering in the small breeze in the pre-dawn light as she listened to the 'man on the ground' as it were, as he recounted his story while she eyed the remains of the former temple and current flattened lot.

"Upon arriving, I already found that the Heretic God, or rather _Goddess_, locked in battle with the young man by the name of Ranma Saotome."

Kaoru barked a short laugh. She had kept an eye on the Nerima situation after it began to grow. Nerima had always been a district of chaos, even before the Meiji Restoration, drawing martial artists of various ranks and abilities into it. As such, with so many accomplished fighters, many with techniques that feathered the border between magic and mundane, fights were inevitable. With so many of the fighters having esoteric abilities, the secrecy of magic was at threat. Thankfully, due to many of residents being abnormal or unique in and of themselves, these exhibitions of supernatural capability were simply shrugged off and accepted, thus there was little need for the various associations to step in.

At least, that was until Ranma Saotome had shown up.

The chaos that Nerima was previously, had then been taken to eleven, and was still rising. Disasters of magical revelation were occurring with such frequency as to be almost ridiculous, with young man at the centre of it all in some fashion or another.

It was like he was a literal chaos magnet.

"Yes, I can see him being involved," Sayanomiya Kaoru said amused, "Continue,"

"The battle was fierce," Homura said promptly, "though it may have been unnecessary if the Tendo girl had kept her mouth shut," he added bitingly. He had very little respect for the brattish young woman. Her temper was only _one_ of her flaws, and it caused enough damage by itself.

"Unlikely," responded his superior, her teenaged faced wrinkled in a slight frown, "Saotome has been reported to be quite impetuous."

"True," Sato Homura nodded, voicing his agreement, "either way then battle ensued. One of the goddess' Authorities seemed to allow her to command the girl, making her submit, before she followed it up with a summoning of a blade, which kept chasing the target, Akane Tendo."

"Mmm," Kaoru mused, "An enemy seeking sword and the ability to command, or perhaps even dominate, people, or maybe just females. The Heretic's history must be rather convoluted to allow such. Those types of Authorities are generally found in Steel Deities. Perseus and Verethragna for the dominance, maybe even Achilles. The enemy seeking weapon can be found in many of the hero-gods, Cu Chullain and his spear being a noted example. Please continue."

"After a period of striking at and evading the Authority by turns, the Saotome boy then performed something similar to a spell, one that I wasn't familiar with."

Kaoru frowned at that revelation. She had unaware that the Saotome child had any magical potential, save for the curses he bore. That he did have such capability, and it wasn't noticed before now, indicated a lack of dedication and an indication of incompetence within the Association in regards to information gathering. If they had known, he would have been approached with an offer of tutoring in the mystical arts, in return for his services. As a highly skilled martial artist, with spells in his repertoire, he would have been an excellent field agent.

She would be having _words_, harsh ones in fact, with the department. They may have just cost the Association a prime candidate for a Great Knight equivalent, if she used the European Association's parlance.

Kaoru glanced off to the side, near the collapsed western wall of the compound, where another group were investigating, led by a young lady, still in her mid-teens, with black hair and carrying a bundle wrapped in purple cloth.

Or maybe even a possible rival for Ena Seishuuin.

Oh, he wasn't there yet, but then he didn't have the advantage of being a Hime-Miko with Divine Possession and the backing of one of the most powerful deities in all of Japan or wield a weapon that is a deity in itself.

Kaoru resolved to keep sharper eye on the young man.

Family looks out for family after all.

She tuned back in as Sato-san kept speaking.

"The use of the spell by him was somehow able to seemingly dispel the Authority of the Goddess. Though it was not without consequence, he then proceeded to fall into convulsions,"

Kaoru nodded her understanding. Authorities, the symbols of a deity's right to rule, were beyond the power of mortal ken. To fight them is folly. Occasionally, however, there are some Authorities that can be fought against, or even overpowered, by mortal magic. This only applied to the strongest of mortal magic against a weak Authority in almost all cases and it carried a great cost for the user of the mortal magic. All spells of such nature were forbidden, the cost of them being too great to use save in the most dire of circumstances. The fact that the boy was even able to do so in the first place was beyond the Heir's understanding.

"The deity was angered beyond belief at what she saw as an affront to her, and then proceeded to change shape into a Divine Beast. A massive White Tiger, capable of generating tearing and cutting winds."

Kaoru raised a slight eyebrow. The identity of the deity in question, or at least one form of her, was beyond doubt.

Byakko. The White Tiger of the West. She would have to consult the library and do the research or see if she could get Mariya Yuri to use her spirit vision on the area. They would have normally sent for the girl by now, but the young lady already had prior commitments that she was unable to leave at this time, leaving Kaoru and her teams to do the heavy lifting.

"The beast then proceeded to attack and seemingly kill the young man and his companion, before then moving to exit the shrine, no doubt to cause damage in the surrounding area. Before it could leave, however, Saotome-san, by some unknown means, was able to attack the Beast."

Kaoru eyed her subordinate, his eyes were glazed in remembrance and a look of utter awe waxed across his visage.

"I have seen many battles, Sayanomiya-sama," he said reverently, "against monsters and men, _between _monsters and men. But when I saw that young man, beaten, bruised, cut and bleeding, stand tall against that Beast, his arms glowing with pure power, his movements so swift as to be unseen save for the incandescent blue streaks he left in his wake. I couldn't do anything but stare in awe. The way he moved was not human, it was too primal, too instinctive, to be used by a mortal man."

Kaoru frowned slightly at the description. _Too Primal_. Those were specific and dangerous words. It was an indication that he was not a man, but a beast in the shape of a man. A Monster, if it were not for the awe-filled face of Sato Homura. If he had shown complete fear and terror however...

Kaoru felt like she was missing something. A fragment of information niggling at the back of her mind.

"I was able to keep watching, despite my state at the time. The boy was able to injure the Beast, but not enough. The Beast was too large for his attacks to do more than irritate it. The Beast finally had enough and began to charge an attack, a ball of metallic power that gathered in the open jaws," Sato shivered violently, "what I felt from that orb, was beyond anything I could imagine. The desire to dominate, to conquer. Crush, kill, destroy. All of these were felt from that."

Kaoru frowned sympathetically at the man, whose skin was now pale as a ghost and clammy with sweat in remembrance. Sato Homura was one of the few magi, outside of a Witch or Hime-Miko, that had a strong sense for magic, one of the reasons that he was sent to Nerima, allowing him to be able to identify magical objects and whether they were malicious, benevolent or indifferent in nature. In some cases, he could also determine it's function and origins with time. It was one of his better skills, which made up for his lack of magic reserves and lack of aptitude for battle spells. In short, he was an investigator or researcher, not a warrior.

However, the sensitivity that made him so highly valued, was also a burden and a curse.

As he was able to feel the nature and power of anything mystical, if the mystical being/object/spell was powerful enough, it would begin to overwhelm his mind, like a psychic pressure. Side effects of this were, but not limited to, migraines, nosebleeds, bleeding eyes and even brain aneurysms. Deadly strokes as well, if the psychic pressure was strong and sudden enough.

But that all paled in comparison to his sympathetic empathy for the magic he feels.

In the presence of a Heretic God, when it summoned up that ball of destruction, Sato Homura had felt the full force of that domination. No doubt he felt like his soul was being crushed into submission, in addition to the deep throbbing pain he was already bearing by being in the presence of the Heretic God.

When the response teams had finally arrived, minutes after the conclusion of the Event, it was to find Sato Homura lying on the rooftops, unconscious and bleeding freely from his eyes and nose. Thankfully, the medics on hand were able to bring him back to good health, but reminded him that he would have to take it easy for the next couple of weeks.

Kaoru coughed lightly, bringing the man from his waking nightmares. Sato continued.

"The boy obviously knew that if it let loose with that ball of destruction, that a lot of people would die, himself included. But he did not run. He stood and fought."

Kaoru shook her head in disbelief. The boy had to have known he was outmatched. He should have retreated.

"The Beast was producing an aura of powerful wind, capable of shredding the stones we stand upon," Sato gestured to the immense stones of the courtyard, many of them either torn from there placement entirely, covered with deep slashes that almost, or did, bisect them or a combination of both, another indication of the sheer power the Heretic Goddess had, "but the boy, somehow, was able to counter that, using noting more than a strange twisting dance."

Kaoru raised an eyebrow, disbelief and skepticism on her face. She couldn't fathom how a dance would be able to fend off a Heretic God's Authority for the life of her. Nonetheless, she said nothing as she awaited the report on the last few moments of the battle.

"Each gyration, each spin, brought the boy closer to the maw of the tiger, he resembled nothing more than a whirlwind, trailing behind incandescent blue streaks of power. Eventually, he was within striking distance of the tiger's claws. The tiger, fortunately, disdained from attacking the Saotome child, no doubt thinking the boy would not be able to cause serious harm, despite the small injuries it had already gained from the boy."

Sato paused for a moment, a flicker of sorrow crossing his features making Kaoru's heart clench in fear. A feeling of dread had been building in her since she had heard that Ranma Saotome had been the one to face the Heretic Goddess. Few were those who encountered one and lived. It could counted on two hands those who have faced a Heretic God in battle and come out alive, with fingers left over, Campiones aside.

She could only hope that Ranma Saotome was one of those few. Hopefully he could be found by one of the parties here. Alive.

"I don't know why he did it," Sato said quietly, his voice barely carrying over the distance between them, as small as it was, in the light of dawn, "or even how. But that boy, by some dint of a miracle, was able to strike down that Beast, a final blow that pushed his body through that destructive ball of power and out the back of that monster's skull, practically beheading it. After that, all I remember is a shockwave of crushing force, a blinding light and then darkness. The next thing I knew, I was awakening in the care of your medics."

Kaoru closed her eyes, trying to think as sorrow threatened to overwhelm her.

There was no doubt that the boy had faced the Heretic Goddess, and even killed her. This would normally qualify the one responsible for ascension to a Campione.

Yet, they couldn't seem to find his would be reposing body as the changes were made by Pandora. Not to mention that the birth of a new Campione would have been felt by any half-decent Hime-Miko, no matter where they were in the world. The fact that neither Mariya or Ena had given any indication of such an event suggested that the event did not happen. Thus leading to the death of Ranma, as there was no doubt that his final attack had been just that. A Final Attack.

All the evidence pointed to the fact that Ranma Saotome, by currently unknown means, was able to prevail against a Heretic Goddess. The information obtained said that another Campione was yet to be born.

Something was amiss.

One result meant a new Campione has arisen. The other meant that Ranma had merely sacrificed himself, dying to save hundreds, if not thousands.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the sounds of boots crunching on stone sounded in her ear. Glancing up from her thoughtful state, she noticed the young lady who came up to her.

She was tall, for a Japanese girl, with a lush figure. Her breasts easily large enough to attract the eye of any passing red-blooded male. Her long black hair, silky and smooth, washed down her white blouse clad back and framed her deceptively delicate face. Her vivid red eyes hinted at the resolve and strength in the frame of the Hime-Miko. Across her back, was a bundle wrapped in royal purple cloth, but even that sealing cloth could not fully suppress the power of the entity it contained.

"Ena-san," Kaoru greeted, pushing away the confusing problem she was confronted with for the moment, and focusing on the vaunted Hime-Miko of the Sword, "I take it preliminary investigations are done?"

The Miko regally nodded, utter grace in her movements, "Yes, Kaoru-san," responded the wielder of Divine Possession, "though some of the results were... confusing... to say the least."

Kaoru raised an eyebrow in question, prompting the swordswoman to continue.

"There was most certainly a fight of Divine proportions here. Ena could feel this by simply being here. The sheer power of the entity blankets the area."

"Not surprising," the Sayanomiya heiress nodded, gesturing to a suddenly ill at ease Sato Homura "according to Sato-san, the deity, at one point, grew greatly enraged and was only just stopped before it unleashed what seemed to be a very destructive Authority."

Ena nodded in understanding at the unspoken explanation. For a being crafted from magic, who is magic, their power often followed their emotions rather than their mind. Hence, an angry Heretic God would unconsciously spread their aura of power out, engulfing the area in their power and tainting the land with it for some time to come. A side effect of it, made it difficult for an average mage to discern mortal magic performed in the area, as the left over aura taint covered it.

"Despite this," the sword using Miko went on, "we were able to find evidence of the battle, on a mystical level. The energies that were left behind, though, were the most confusing."

The Hime-Miko looked troubled, an expression that rarely crossed her composed and often cheerful features.

"Ena was able to find traces of human mortal power, quite strong even as small as they were," she continued, her frown deepening, as did the dark pit of Kaoru's stomach, "but, after a while, they suddenly seem to vanish, completely. Further investigation showing that it was _before_ the Heretic God was vanquished."

Kaoru frowned deeply. That didn't make any sense. Ranma Saotome was the only one indicated to have actually fought the Goddess, thus his signal should not have vanished until it coincided with the Goddess' destruction. Sayanomiya had a feeling she would not like the final results of this investigation.

Ena's next words proved equally puzzling and ominous.

"Only for a new signal to emerge," Ena frowned even deeper, her face looking like a craggy rock rather than a smooth featured princess at that moment, "it was almost completely different from the mortal one. More wild, stronger."

A light blinked on in the Sayanomiya heir's brain, "More primal, perhaps?" she questioned stiffly, quoting Sato as her thoughts began running a mile a second as various reports she had on the young man began creating a complete picture as a hypothesis formed.

In particular, one report that mentioned a rumour of the boy's irrational fear of cats stood out.

'_In the name of all things **remotely **holy, please let me be wrong!' _Kaoru begged to whatever deity may be listening. If she was right, and she hoped to the Heavenly Plains above and the Underworld below that she was not, then all hell would break loose, with **HER** at the forefront.

Ena pursed her lips in thought before nodding, "An apt description, though it was more than that. The new energy that arose was an odd one. There were the smallest traces of human power, barely detectable, but it was overwhelmed by the more 'primal' aspect. Samples were taken of it and we should have the results within the next few days."

Reprieve. Kaoru let out a breath of slight relief. While her theory may be right, they wouldn't know for certain until the results came back. That gave her time to find the martial artist.

And try to figure out what exactly was going on. And also draw up some plans for a worst case scenario.

Her aunt was absolutely vicious with the sword, after all.

"So in conclusion," she voiced her thoughts, keeping the ominous feeling dwelling in the back of her mind from tinging her voice, "we have a dead Heretic God, it's missing killer and, as yet, no signs of a birth of a new Campione, despite all the requirements being fulfilled, correct?"

Ena nodded sharply in confirmation.

"Wonderful," she muttered to herself under her breath, "what else could possibly go wrong?"

Kaoru eyes widened at her own words and slapped her hand across her mouth, as if to take them back.

"Excuse me!" a voice called out to the small group of three, a voice that the two girls knew quite well. Kaoru's spine stiffened in apprehension as the Hime-Miko of the Sword practically grinned.

"Ahh! Nodoka-shishou! How are you?" responded the Hime-Miko gleefully, ignoring the paling features of the Sayanomiya heiress.

'_This_,' the heiress thought, her back still to the steadily approaching woman, who was unaware of her son's...situation, '_will not end well_.'

* * *

Ranma's eyes snapped open.

He could see nothing but the dawn-filled sky, a mix of bluish grey that was only seen at rising of the sun. He could hear nothing but the wind, gentle and soft, as it blowed, wafting and dancing in the dawn light. His taste buds could only feel the remains of Akane's cooking, a horrible taste that tainted his meals for several days after he had forced to eat it. His nose was filled with the stench of dirt, blood and sweat, an indication to his slightly befuddled mind that he had recently been in a fight.

But his other sense informed of his location.

"Yeeeooow!" He yelled, leaping to his feet awkwardly as hopped on one foot, frantically trying to get the large crab that seized his big toe in it's large claw, swinging the gripped one violently.

A few more moments of screaming and yelling and the infernal crustacean was sent flying into the ocean and the young martial artist fell on his backside, imprinting his body firmly in the sand, and began to sooth his abused foot.

"Damn crab!" he growled as he gently rubbed at his toe, trying to take away the pain, "Next time I see ya, it will be in a hotpot, got me!?"

The martial artist, having finally soothed his toe, and finished cussing out the respective ancestors of the soon to be blue plate special, he looked around.

The smooth white sand he sat on was narrow, terminating into the water not thirty feet from the beginning of the dunes. Beyond the sandy hillocks, rose a field of large boulders, taller than two of himself and wider by three of him at the least and beyond that, lay large dark bluffs, tens of metres tall and obscuring his sight from all that went in that direction. Looking up, he could see the rim of the cliffs, a light green colour showing the grass growing on the top.

Wide eyed, not knowing where he was, he looked around even more. The great cliffs followed into a great curved shape, creating a large cove, that headed out into the distant sea, from which the sun was arising.

He turned back to the cliffs, scratching at his pigtail, confused.

"What in Kami's name?" He whispered to himself, "where the hell am I?"

A soft giggle, like chimes in the wind, drew his attention, his head whipping around to face the source.

Against the light of the dawning sun, wet vivid red hair shone a bright copper as the light bounced off of the water droplets within it. The petite frame, toned and fit, had water run down it, emphasising the curves and bare breasts. Mischievous blue eyes, so familiar, stared into his own, like twin mirrors.

The girl who rose from the ocean giggled again as Ranma felt his face flush a deep red at the girl's lack of dress and felt his heart skip a beat. The beautiful form before him, entranced him, drew him in. An unfamiliar emotion, something he had never felt before, stirred within. A need, a desire, to claim, to protect, to stay with her.

It felt odd to feel such emotions for his own cursed form.

The girl looked at the transfixed young man before her and giggled again. His expression and crimson flush was absolutely hilarious to her.

"Hey ya, big brother!" She greeted with a wave of her hand.

Ranma stared at her a little longer.

Then fell backwards into a deep faint.

The girl stared at the sprawled and unconscious form of the young man and merely laughed again as she sat down of the sand, awaiting the awakening of her brother again.

Hopefully he would stay awake this time.

* * *

Sayanomiya Kaoru wasn't afraid of many things.

She had stood against mages, powerful ones, that had fallen into the darkness, committing acts of blasphemy and taboo, participating in events of atrocity, and had fought them to the bitter end, claiming the spoils of her victory in the end.

She had looked into the eyes of a Divine Ancestor, knowing that she did not have the strength to achieve victory against the fallen goddess, and had not flinched.

She had even been in the presence of a Heretic God, had felt it's power and known she was nothing more than an ant before it's might, and had not quailed.

She had even dared to deal with the Devil of the Balkans, the Wolf King. His silver hair and older frame gave a picture of distinguished nobility, when in fact his haunting spectral green eyes conveyed his true savage nature. Even as they had stared at her, she had not given an inch.

Of all of these encounters, she had felt little in the way of fear, even if it was dangerous.

That said, she was willing to trade her soul to be in one of those situations again instead of what she was in now.

"I don't think I heard you correctly, niece," the devil in woman's clothing said softly, ominously, as she looked at the Sayanomiya heiress, the woman's long red hair floated behind, like the tails of an angered kitsune, "maybe you can repeat it?"

Kaoru gulped slightly in fear as she eyed the woman's hand gently caressing the now uncovered katana, free from it's cloth confines, but, thankfully, still sheathed. Beside the heir, Ena fidgeted nervously, realising that her swordsmaster was not in the best of moods, and tried not to draw her ire.

"You didn't hear incorrectly, Auntie," Kaoru said, locking her blue eyes with the woman's own, trying to keep the fear of her at bay, "your son did do battle with a Heretic God."

"I see," the woman murmured, never stopping her threatening caress of her honour blade, "that still does not tell me _how_ my son came to be here, in Nerima... Or why I was not informed immediately," Her blue eyes were now darkened to sapphire blue, and just as hard and sharp, as they pierced Kaoru and Ena, eying them up as if to decide whether to fillet their flesh or cube it up.

Kaoru was suddenly reminded that this woman, despite being her aunt by blood, was both a mother and a warrior, who had been forcefully separated from her son due to the actions of her louse of her _former_ husband. The fact that they had the boy within arm's reach, only to disappear sometime after, and that she was not able to be informed until it was too late, most likely stoked her parental anger. Something that Kaoru had no desire to face.

"The History Compilation Committee tried to inform you once it was positively confirmed that the Ranma is this district was your son. It was only just a month ago that undeniable proof was obtained. We didn't inform you before that so as to not give you false hope." Kaoru tried to explain, attempting to avoid an unsheathed sword swinging for her neck.

Sayanomiya, formerly Saotome, Nodoka's eyes softened slightly in understanding, but did not cease her sword readying actions.

Nodoka was one of the most skilled amongst the HCC, at least in regards to battle. She was not the strongest mage, barely above a low ranked mage or an apprentice, but what she did have, she used to great effect in her swordsmanship and general melee combat. As a younger sister to the current head of the Sayanomiya family, she also had a decent amount of influence, despite a few of the more opinionated parts of the family believing she was not of worth due to her low magical reserves, something that Nodoka had proved false with her beating the hell out of stronger members of the HCC, in magical power, knowledge and experience, with her skills.

Many an ego was left broken that day.

Afterwards, she gained a reputation as an excellent combatant and infiltrator in many of the missions she went on. Using the not-so-false mask of the traditional Japanese housewife, albeit one with a warrior's heritage, she was able to get close to the targets, her low magical levels only helping her in tasks as they did not think her more than an untrained civilian with larger than usual dormant magic. By the time the targets knew something was wrong, that she was a wolf in sheep's clothing, she had already begun to tear them apart with her sword.

Nodoka often went by the moniker 'Akasha'. The Bloodriver. A reference to her long dark crimson hair, that she generally wore up when not in the field, and the blood that ended up being spilled when was in combat. Many a mage quivered in fear when they heard that she was called in to help eliminate them due to their dangerous, atrocious and vile activities.

It was because she was called in by the HCC in order to perform a mission, incognito, that she missed being informed of the confirmation of her son's reappearance.

If the mission wasn't so important, Nodoka may have just used her sword to express her displeasure. Permanently.

From the look in her sharp eyes, Kaoru thought that option wasn't entirely off the table.

"Humph," the elder redhead grunted, feminine despite the coarseness, as her hand, to Kaoru and Ena's thankfulness, drifted away from the sword hilt, "you should have been looking for my former _husband_," the word was practically hissed out, a serpent dripping poison from its fangs, "for all his sneaky, rat-like ways, he still leaves enough chaos in his wake to be tracked easily enough," her eyes softened from the venom that had preciously filled them, "and where the fool is, my son would be sure to be near by."

Ena and Kaoru both grimaced. Genma Saotome was a sore spot for the entirety of the HCC and an object of hatred and shame for the Sayanomiya clan.

He was a decent martial artist, rumoured to have trained under the infamous Happousai, a three hundred year old menace to all women and perverted martial artist of extraordinary capability and was wanted by the various Magical Associations for theft and nuisance, but was otherwise a, relatively, harmless, albeit powerful, old man.

Rumour had it that the little troll was able feel up Luo Hao, the Ruler of the Martial Realm and a Campione, in his younger days and was somehow able to, barely, escape her wrath. Though it should be noted that there is still a reward notice posted by the woman regarding information into his whereabouts. The HCC unanimously decided to keep their collective mouths shut in regards to him being in Nerima.

They didn't want to have to rebuild Tokyo after her Eminence had finished her hunt after all.

Regardless, after Genma and his training partner, Soun Tendo, had left the the troll's hellish apprenticeship, they had decided to go their separate ways. The Tendo decided to open up a dojo in Nerima, and soon fell for one of the local women. Saotome, on the other hand, kept up his wanderings, often stealing, lying and cheating in order to get by, and keep up his frequent visits to the nearby brothels.

Unfortunately, the Sayanomiya clan never knew about this until years after he had married Nodoka.

They had first met by coincidence, though there was now some doubt on the matter. Nodoka had been celebrating with friends at a local bar, for her birthday. Unfortunately, Sayanomiya's had enemies who decided to crash said party. Professional, swift and completely unexpected, the small team of men knocked out the various patrons and an unarmed and unprepared Nodoka, before spiriting her away, no doubt to hold her for ransom.

When she had awoken, it was to the familiar sounds of battle. Flesh meeting flesh in a series of blows. Her eyes managed to open wide enough to see what was happening and had been slightly awed. A stocky man in a head kerchief and an old gi was tearing apart her abductors like they were made of paper. His movements were swift and graceful, his strikes were precise and powerful. He made short work of them, leaving them broken and bleeding heavily, before he had come over to her and, with a swift pull, tore the rope binding her apart.

His first words to her had not been the most eloquent.

'_You alright, girl?_' are hardly words that inspire dramatic poems of heroism.

Nonetheless, despite the uncouth bearing and manner of the man, Nodoka couldn't help but be drawn to him.

It was hardly the last meeting between them, the Sayanomiyas were grateful to the man for saving one of their own and offered some recompense. Genma accepted the offering, a kind of patronage from the clan, and in return offered to help with the hand to hand training of their people.

They had cautiously agreed, despite the man being the saviour of one of their own, they still didn't quite trust him and instructed all of their family to avoid mentions of magic.

As time passed, it seemed to be a good choice, their field agents were becoming stronger, more able to perform their duties, and so the clan didn't mind the growing closeness between Nodoka and Genma. It was only a matter of time before wedding bells were heard across the clan's compound in celebration of the union. The clan rejoiced, but, in some part of the backs of their minds, something felt off about the man, and so knowledge of magic was still kept from him, despite Nodoka's protests.

It was a few months after the couple's honeymoon that small things began to crop up.

It started small, objects going missing and not being found, small withdrawals from the clan's account that were unaccounted for. Everyone just brushed it off, these little things always happen and they were barely even an inconvenience and were easily solved.

But these little things kept happening, until the birth of Ranma.

His birth was celebrated by the clan and their allies, and no mother was more doting or protective than Nodoka. Even Genma showed pride in his son, boasting loudly that he would be the best in the world. When questioned what in, the answer came clear.

'_Martial Arts, of course_.'

The only cloud that hovered over the celebrating family, minus the oblivious Genma, was the fact that a magical scan revealed that Ranma had no aptitude for magic, no more than a civilian's worth, and as such Nodoka would be unable to pass on her style of swordsmanship and magic to her son, who would be her only child due to complications in the birth. Nodoka had been sad for a moment, but loved her son no less for it.

Nodoka had been content with raising her son and had quit taking missions for the HCC to focus on doing so, she had even encouraged her husband in training her son in the Art. Though she was quick to put an end to the foolish man's more zealous training exercises.

Honestly, throwing a three year old from a tree in order to teach him how to fall properly?! Genma had gone to bed with bruises on his bruises that night. The clan hadn't been impressed either.

About a month after that incident, those annoying little events began again, and, shockingly, began to build up to more than just little problems over the next three years. Money in the region of a hundred thousand yen began to go missing on a regular basis and priceless items, even heirlooms that were in the family for centuries, began to go missing.

Someone was stealing from them on a regular basis, too frequently to be an outsider. One of their own was betraying the family.

It was also during this time that Genma began to show his true colours. Often disappearing for days at a time and returning home drunk as a lord, failing to show up to the sessions where he taught the Art or, if he did, was also drunk. He also began to, in his own words, 'toughen up the boy' by sneaking the child away from Nodoka and taking him to remote areas in order to train him, again for days at a time. Nodoka had been frantic and furious when they had returned the first time, Genma still tall and strong, while Ranma looked diminished and haunted, often shying away from touches instead of embracing them, all because of a week long training trip.

Nodoka had been about ready to flay Genma alive until Ranma piped up and asked her not to, he wanted to get strong.

Despite her better judgement, Nodoka had relented and not torn Genma to pieces, and only verbally tore him a new one.

She, and the clan, tried to carefully monitor the training sessions, only for her husband to keep being able to sneak away and lose any pursuers. They had even tried magic but, somehow, the scrying had been obscured each time, by some unknown force, though they were quickly able to tell it was a passive effect rather than an active one, meaning that it did not happen deliberately or was created by spell or Authority. Though it had left them puzzled on it's exact cause.

In effect, without evidence from Ranma or Genma in regards to what the training sessions consisted of (Genma insisting it was a family Art and thus required secrecy), they could do little more than try to keep Genma away from the increasingly haunted child. It did little against the man's stealth and the boy became less and less of an innocent each time Genma managed to get a hold of him.

Nodoka did as much as she could, putting the fear of the Kami into her louse of a husband, but she couldn't do more, not without bringing shame to the family in her view. She tried to protect her child as best she could, but her husband was stealthy and managed to get around her somewhat rusty senses with ease. Divorce was not an option either, as that would shame her family even more in her eyes.

Everything finally came to a head on Ranma's sixth birthday.

Nodoka had been preparing a special breakfast for her son, letting him sleep in that day after just arriving back another one of those torturous trips with that damned man. The look in the child's eyes after he had come back had just about sent the mother over the edge, her fingers itching for her sword and Genma's blood.

Desolation, coldness, fear, an empty manic pride and drive, an obsession of someone who had nothing else. That was not what she wanted to see in her son's eyes, to see in anyone's eyes. She had swiftly put her son to bed, ignoring the bastard of a man she had foolishly married, and sang to him, trying to give him reassurance that she loved him, that someone loved him still.

Half an hour later, she thought she had succeeded, a small sincere smile on his lips instead of an empty look. As she let her child sleep, no nightmares to disturb him for once, her resolve firmed.

Enough was enough. Damn her pride, damn her clan's shame, she would not let that-that-that **ANIMAL** hurt her son anymore. Such was her fury, that, for the first time in years, her Killing Intent filled the air of the home, like a black mist making everything wither before her or cower in fear. Her mind had been filled with only one desire, one goal, one thought that overrode almost all others.

**_KILL GENMA._**

She had stalked toward the last position of the bastard, only to find an empty space and a clutter of a mess leading towards a wide open front door. Obviously, he had felt the sheer malice that her fighting spirit emitted and had, quickly, escaped.

She knew she wouldn't quell her bloodlust that night, and simply went to bed, ready to celebrate her son's birthday the next day.

She had been interrupted from her cooking by the her front door practically smashing open as her elder brother stormed in, rage covering him like a cloak.

Kenshin Sayanomiya was about average height for a Japanese man, if not a bit taller, and his lean and slender frame belied the explosive power, in magic and melee, that it could produce at any given time. His mid length red hair, a trait they had both inherited from their mother, was done up in a pony tail, keeping it out of the way of his currently burning golden eyes. His face, looking more youthful than it should, was practically carved in a scowl and his gait was that of a tiger ready to pounce and rend anyone foolish enough to provoke it.

He had not been in the best of moods.

He had practically snarled at her, demanding to know where her wretch of a husband was, only to receive her clear answer of ignorance. It only seemed to infuriate him further, his face now flushing to match his hair.

'_When I find that wretch,_' he had hissed, '_I will rend him to pieces, boil them, and feed them to pigs for his thieving ways!_'

It hadn't taken her long to connect the dots. Her bastard of a spouse, if he could really be called that as he had only done his husbandly duties until her son was born, and even then it was merely a five minute hump and sleep, was behind the various thefts that had troubled the clan for several years. Though how the idiot had managed it without getting caught in his stupidity was a mystery to her.

Her snarl of rage easily equaled her brothers.

Taking a few deep breaths, her brother had asked to bring in her son, he needed to be informed, despite his young age, that his father was not to be trusted and to get his mother immediately if he was contacted by him.

The Sayanomiya's, while protective of their members, didn't hide from the younger generation what was happening. They didn't believe it was a good idea to leave children in ignorance, leaving them vulnerable.

Nodoka immediately went to collect her son, opening his door after a quick rap and call.

What met her sight froze heart and her mouth gasping loudly in shock, bringing her brother running.

She collapsed backwards into her brothers arms as she had taken in the violently disturbed room, obvious evidence of various clothes and other things taken. On the bed, where her son should have been sleeping, was a simple rolled up scroll, resting in plain sight.

While her brother was growling various curses, descriptive and vile, she shakily approached the bed and lifted the scroll, reading its contents.

It almost made her want to vomit.

She easily recognised the handwriting, the chicken scratch could only belong to the bastard Genma, and the hand print on the bottom, the size of a child's hand. Her son's hand.

But it was the text that it contained that had shocked and sick, as well as her brother who had read it over her shoulder.

A seppuku contract. That foul loathsome sorry excuse for rotten meat had dared to write out a seppuku contract, for her son, if he didn't become a 'man among men', and had abducted her son from her in the dead of night to do so.

She didn't remember much after that. Only a spinning world and an encompassing darkness.

When she had woken up, it was to find that the entire clan was organising search parties for her son and the piece of crap she had mistakenly married.

Within a week, they had able to trace the path of the two, empty campgrounds or other things, but were still unable to lock on with their scrying spells. And so they chased, and so the pair fled.

Weeks turned in months, turned into years. And still the clan, and by extension the HCC, kept chasing the two, only for them, or rather Genma, to keep one step ahead of them at all times. He even had the gall to send letters to her regarding her son's and his progress with the training trip. The clan was beyond angry at such an act, seeing it as spitting on their efforts.

During that time, Nodoka had managed to get a divorce and a court order that would transfer custody of her precious son to her and have Genma arrested. She also had to deal with debtors, made by her former spouse, come calling to collect their dues. She had refused to do so in all circumstances and, when they started throwing fits at not getting their money or, and ethos had steamed her beyond belief, her son, she explained the exact circumstances of the bastard she had once foolishly married and his actions. Despite many of the debtors being...eccentric... they were still decent enough people at heart, and were visibly angry at being duped and horrified at her bastard former spouse's actions.

Needless to say, they dropped there debt with her and focused on finding and tearing apart a certain panda-to-be.

She had also taken up her sword once more, getting back into the swing of combat, to distract from her sorrow of losing her son, and was soon once more feared as she had been before her marriage.

Which lead up to this day, after having been on a mission in Kyoto to get rid of group of nasty magi seeking to summon Amatsu-no-Mikaboshi. Idiots the lot of them for wanting to summon the god of 'evil', but they were still a credible threat. On doing this mission, she was required to discreetly approach the group and thus had temporarily taken over a safe house in the city and, just so the group could not connect her with the HCC, had gone incognito and remained incommunicado for the duration of it.

A length of time during which the HCC had been able to sniff out the location of her bastard former lover and her son and had been unable to contact her without breaking orders or arousing suspicion. They also hadn't moved to collect her son and former husband due to a mandate that she insisted on being involved inn the capture of the bastard of a fool.

By the time they had been able to contact her, after she had completed the mission and was returning home, the event had already happened, leaving them having no idea of the whereabouts or the condition of her son.

So it was understandable that she was not in the best of moods when she had arrived at the site of the emergence.

"Ena is truly sorry, Nodoka-shishou," Ena said with a deep bow, "Ena was unable to contact you."

Nodoka let out a heavy sigh, before flicking a hand in dismissal to the young woman, "it is no one's fault child," she admonished shortly, "just a set of circumstances we were unable to prevent."

A leering grin of malice flowed across the matron's features, looking like a Goddess of Death, "Besides, I still have managed to obtain the whereabouts of the rat." the grin grew wider, "I will take my...**displeasure**...out on him. Heavily."

Kaoru both leaned back at the malice her aunt displayed and let out a breath of relief that she was not the current object of her ire any longer. Though, if it were any other being than Genma, she would have had a degree of pity for said target.

"What of your son, Auntie?" Kaoru asked. It was a most important question, if not *the* most important. It was still a mystery of the exact fate of the young man, one that many were determined to solve.

The woman paused in her malicious scheming, halting her thoughts of plans to torture a certain bald martial artist. It had been so long since she had seen her son. Would he remember her? Was he even still alive?

She searched her feelings, looking for that little piece of her heart that was dedicated to her only child, her beautiful son. Her metaphysical heart was stained with blood and scarred with pain, a tribute to a warrior's life. Veins of darkness, little rivers of despair, also entwined, representing the betrayals she had suffered. But, in the centre, a golden light blossomed, the symbol of her love, of her family. It was slightly tarnished, no longer the burning immortal gold it once was, like the blinding light of the sun. No, it was duller now, a wash of darkness, of _Genma_, forever dimming it's light. However, in the core of that centre, there still stood a light untainted, matching the brilliance of what the whole centre once was, beating and pulsing in time to her own heartbeat.

It was said that mother knows everything about their child, whether they are speaking truths or lies, are close or far, or even if they were alive or dead.

And that fragment of maternal instinct, almost buried beneath her rage and despair at being separated from her precious son, screamed at her, telling her what she most desperately wanted to know.

_Her son was alive. Her son was well. Her son was strong._

"My son is alive," she stated, declared, firmly, "where he is, I know not, but he is still amongst the living."

Her niece and her student both nodded at the declaration, taking it as gospel. A mother's instinct should never be doubted.

"Then we will find him," Kaoru declared firmly, straightening herself, tall and proud, willing to take on her self-appointed mission, "even if we need to move heaven and earth, we will find him."

"Ena agrees," the Hime-Miko spoke cheerfully, "Ena would love to see Nodoka-shishou's son."

"My thanks," Nodoka accepted gracefully before turning and walking away, "I will join you in the search," she called over her shoulder, as she wrapped her sword in a bundle once more, "but first, I have other, more *pointed,* issues to address."

All those who heard her last words, as she left the destroyed shrine, shuddered in fear at hearing the sheer bloodlust colouring the deceptively mild words.

The 'Akasha' was here, and she was not happy.

Many of them prayed for mercy on the poor fool that had drawn her ire, for she will not have any.

* * *

Cologne sighed with relief as her granddaughter finally shifted forms with the hot water she bathed her in, despite not waking up.

The last night had been hectic for the three century old Amazon. She had never, ever, expected for there to be an emergence of a Heretic God, not while she was here.

The old battle maiden could still remember the first time she had encountered a Divine Being.

It had been in her youth, when she had left the village for a time, seeking new challenges, new knowledge. It had been something of a tradition for the more accomplished among the younger generation of her village to make a warrior's pilgrimage. A journey through which they would grow in strength and power, look for a desirable spouse and also bring back arts, crafts or knowledge that could help to improve the village.

It had been about a year into her wanderings, going outside of China and following the Silk Road to the west overland. It was hard prospect for an ordinary person, let alone a ordinary woman of the time, but she was an Amazon, persistent and strong, and forged her path forward. She had to _dissuade_ a few people from attempting to claim her over her travels. They generally got the point when she shattered the arm of the first idiot to try when she went into a city.

Rumour spreads fast, who knew?

It was during one of her stops in a small village, in the middle of nowhere. They were a pleasant people and didn't rely have any prejudice. It was one of those isolated border towns where nationalities mixed so much that they were almost one unto themselves and didn't really follow any ways but their own.

She had been resting from a day's work in the fields, in preparation for the winter, as a part of letting her stay and purchase supplies, when a massive explosion had rocked the village. Without a word, she grabbed up her weapons and sprinted to the disturbance. When she has arrived at the source, it was all she could to try and breathe and keep standing.

Terror had frozen her limbs as she took in the seeming man, covered in flames, destroying everything in his site with flying balls on crimson flame. The being, for it was surely no man, was massive, towering over the buildings of the small community and burning all the while.

'_Where is your sport?_' The giant had roared mockingly, the voice eloquent despite it's volume, '_whence went your courage?'_

Cologne had felt her heart enflamed with rage at its words, burning away the ice of fear that froze her limbs, and lifted her spear and thrown it with a cry of rage, echoed by the other residents still there as they all charged the burning being, Cologne being the only one to keep still, awaiting the injury she could inflict.

The spear was contemptuously grasped out of the air by a massive hand, looking a like a toothpick in comparison to the burning appendage, spun and then slammed through the stomachs of three men, with a single move, before an eruption of fire exploded from its body, turning to ash all those that had charged it.

Then it had turned toward her.

The face, which she could now see clearly, was swarthy and black beneath the crimson flames that danced around it. An insolent grin, mocking and rich, was fixed upon it, making her angry.

'_So one warrior is in this village_,' it had mused, looking directly into her eyes from its tall height, her body shaking in fear and anger as she looked back, '_intriguing_." It drew itself up and smashed its sparking chest, bellowing an order she was powerless to disobey.

'_Come at me, girl. Show me, the guardian of Muspellheim, your greatest strength. Show me your valour, little Valkyrie._'

The words hammered into her mind, irresistibly, and forced her to do as they said.

She charged.

The next few minutes were a blur, her desperate attacks, driven by fear and force, were knocked aside by massive hands or taken completely as if they were a hit from a newborn child. No weapon she had could penetrate those burning flames. Her hands were scalded and burnt as she tried to strike the body. The best, and last, attack she could have used, the Hiryu Shoten Ha, had been countered as soon as she had attempted it, the beings energy matching her own cold, the crimson flames disappearing, and met her fist with his own massive one, shattering her arm and throwing her into a still raised wall of a home.

Defeated.

Ice had spread across her, holding her in place against the wall, at the beings will. It had then approached her, the weight of its power now crushing her, making her feel as less than a speck of dirt.

'_Thou did well, valkyrie,_' his voice had smirked cruelly, mockingly, to her helpless figure, her thoughts barely able to focus on the beings words, '_but you have proved...inadequate...for my taste_."

Her thoughts burned in anger, her head spinning more, at his words. She was an Amazon! How dare he talk down to her!

Cruel chuckles became roaring laughter as flames once more wreathed him as he turned away, walking calmly further west, his back turned to her, not seeing her as a threat.

'_Live, little valkyrie_.' He had called over his shoulder as her consciousness began to fade, '_Live, and know how weak you truly are_.'

She returned to the world of living as she was being treated by one of the nearby Magus Associations. She had demanded answers, her pride broken by the bout with the being.

She received them. Ignorance had truly been bliss.

She was hailed as one of the best among her tribe, able to fight even an Elder of the militaristic village she called home on a relatively equal level. She had yet to meet one who could truly challenge her, except for the little troll Happousai. She held herself one of the best.

After been defeated like she was a newborn child facing a giant, she learned how far away for the top she truly was. She was little more than a large minnow in the ocean filled with sharks.

Tales were told of gods and heroes, devils and demons, monsters and myths, descending from their place amongst the heavens, wreaking havoc across the land and sea, destroying all in their path in their rage against the chains of human belief. Hushed words were spoken of those who had dared to fight them, to stand against their almighty power, and win. Great songs were sung about these Godslayers, these Campione, these Devil Kings, who had triumphed over the rampaging deities and beasts of myth and took their power as their own.

It was sobering thought for the young warrioress.

After she had healed, thanks to the efforts of these magi, she had traced back her steps, returning to her home.

The world she had thought she had known, had been prepared for, was shown to be nothing but smoke and mirrors, hiding the harsh truth beneath honeyed lies. She had learnt enough, experienced enough. Now she would prepare her brothers and sisters for the world outside their village walls.

And it had been that way for three hundred years. Since then, she had never seen another Heretic God, despite the secret of the tribe she was let in on after her return, but she remembered the feeling, the majesty and power, the devilish might and maddening rage she had felt on that day. And when that feeling, felt so long ago, but never forgotten, had surfaced once more, in the vicinity of her granddaughter, she had reacted, making a path to her side, hoping against all hope that she was unharmed.

When she had arrived, it was to the last thing she expected, though looking back, she should have.

Son-in-law fighting the, undoubtedly, Heretic God was probably par for the course in the young man's complex and chaotic life.

Nonetheless, she was shocked beyond anything in her life at the sight. She had fought such a being when she was at least two years older than Ranma, and was viciously defeated and left alive out of mockery. Son-in-law, on the other hand, was acquitting himself well, landing many a scar on the immense tiger.

She had quickly gathered up her granddaughter, the idiot Mousse and the foolish Akane and withdrew to a safe distance, two blocks away, and watched the battle. She knew she could not interfere, strong as she maybe, her flesh was not what it once was, and it would mean nothing to the Heretic God. Though this begged the question how Son-in-law was able to even harm it.

The battle was like nothing she had ever seen, a battle that belonged in the realm of legends and myths. A beast of immense proportions and power, facing the highly skilled and determined warrior, the fight was almost a cliche. But she knew, despite the effort her son-in-law put out to fight this being, the conclusion of this battle was foregone. The monster would win this battle, no human could hope to match the immense power of this being. There would be no fairytale ending this day.

She could only watch, knowing it was futile to run, as the massive beast began to charge up an attack. She could feel its power, its purpose, and knew nothing in its path would survive when it was unleashed.

But then, to her eternal surprise, her son-in-law tried to develop a counter for it, seeking to destroy the beast before it could use that devastating weapon of domination. She watched in awe as the martial arts savant used the Soul of Ice and his own spiralling movement to somehow approach the great beast. It should not have been possible, no human magic, Daoist, Western or otherwise, could hope to match the power of a God's Authorities. And yet, this boy, an idiot outside of battle, was somehow able to do so.

It was when he was within striking distance of the beast that she had an impossible thought. That she would witness something rarer than hen's teeth, than finding gold amongst the dross.

That she would witness the birth of a new being. The coronation of new king. She would bear witness to the devil seating himself on his throne of skulls, the champion of man donning his armour and girding his sword. She would hear the cries of hate as the demon donned his mantle, pleas from the lowly as they cry for their eternal protector.

As the child she knew as her son-in-law leapt towards the maw of the beast, steely determined and without a trace of fear, she couldn't help but let tears trickle down her withered cheeks, in grief, in joy.

In utter awe.

As the silver flash of the final attack erupted into the sky, buffeting winds and immense force tearing the shrine apart, words that had been imprinted in her memory when she had first heard them over a century ago spilled from her wrinkled lips.

"Campione – Godslayer – is a supreme ruler.

Since he can kill a celestial being, he can therefore call on the highly divine powers held by the gods.

Campione – Godslayer – is a lord.

Since the power to kill a deity is in their hands, they can therefore dominate the mortals on Earth.

Campione – Godslayer – is a devil.

Therefore of the entire humanity living on earth, those who have the power to oppose them do not exist!"

She had then swiftly departed the area, returning the Tendo girl to her home unnoticed before speedily returning to the Nekohanten, her mind awhirl with the happenings of the night.

She gently tended to her grandchild, the foolish part-timer dumped in a corner to sleep off the heavy strike to the head. Thankfully, or not, his thick skull prevented any major damage from occurring to the idiot.

It had taken a while to properly tend to her granddaughter, as the Jusenkyo curse had, at first, refused to change, hot water not returning her descendent to her true form. For a while, she had feared that her beloved Shampoo, the only remaining relative of her bloodline, would be forced to remain a cat for the rest of her days. Further inspection showed what exactly was preventing the curse from reverting.

Her Ki, more specifically her Yin Ki, had been drained from her, completely.

It had puzzled the old woman, wondering why her grandchild would be drained of the Female Aspect of her spiritual power and why it would affect the curse so. Even as she tended to her now human grandchild, she still didn't understand, but as she was able to determine what was wrong with her, it was possible for the elderly woman to heal her descendent.

A hefty amount of her Ki was transferred to Shampoo, enabling her grandchild to assume her human form once more and kick starting her spiritual core into producing more Yin Ki. She would have to be careful to avoid cold water for the next couple of days or she would be back to being stuck as a feline for a time, but Shampoo would make a full recovery.

It was more than many could say of their meeting with a Heretic God. If they even survived in the first place.

She sighed as she dried down Shampoo and slipped her into her bed, her body still limp from exhaustion but now now much healthier than it was. She gently caressed her child's cheek with her shrivelled and withered hand.

She had almost lost the gem of her life, all because of the existence of those Heretic Gods. Thankfully, her husband was able to pull victory from the jaws of defeat once more, saving her life. She didn't know how, or even why, but she didn't really care. Her precious child was safe, that was all that mattered.

Though, she pursed her wrinkled lips slightly, she had a feeling she would not like the news she would give when she awoke in regards to her chasing of son-in-law. There would be pressure to claim him, unofficially, by the other elders of the village, one of the reasons she was able to be in Japan rather than governing the village. She was able to claim seniority and the elder council, as a whole, were the ones who guided the village rather than a single individual. Officially, however, the boy was now free of the laws of the Joketsuzoku.

After all, no one was stupid enough to try and bulldoze a Campione into something they didn't want.

The pressure would be heavy, but certain rules would have to be enforced. No longer would Shampoo be able to resort to the various tricks and traps, magic or not, that she was able to use before. If, as she suspected/hoped, the young Ranma had become a Campione, such things would be of no affect or simply enrage him, the Campione's primal instinct to rule, to dominate, for freedom, would not permit any other reaction. It was simply to dangerous to influence a Campione, Pompeii being an excellent example.

She chuckled slightly, if only young Ranma knew that being a Campione exempted him from the laws of the Joketsuzoku, then the fool may have just sought out a Heretic God long before now. And he may just have won!

Still, she would have to guide her precious grandchild in a more...subtle... courtship.

'M_ay you live in interesting times_,' she chuckled to herself, shaking her head in amusement, '_the young man must have been cursed._'

She chuckled heartily as she went to her bed, plans and ideas filling her dreams.

* * *

"You are such a prude, big brother," the red headed girl whined as she dressed herself in the tattered light coat and torn pants Ranma had stripped off his body in order to the let the girl have a degree of modesty.

The fact that she had said she did not need and was more comfortable without them had sent shivers down the male teen's spine, imagining the effect of her words in a more public setting, and made him all the more determined to make her accept them.

"Just put 'em on, for Kami's sake," he sighed with his back turned. He had no desire to see more of her than he already had, the Fiancee Brigade would have his guts for garter belts (whatever they were) if they found out about this, he had no desire to make it even worse.

Ranma sighed again at the grumbling of the vision of his cursed form, his eyes firmly fixed on the horizon over the water as the sun grew higher. He was honestly confused with the current state of affairs. Last he remembered, he was literally leaping into the jaws of death, his body torn and bloody.

Now. He flexed his hands, Hard and tough, but without the visible calluses he had attained through his rough life, feeling the differences they had. Now it was like he was completely different person.

The small pains, built up from his father's teachings and slap dash healing, had disappeared. Scars that often ached in the cold weather had vanished. His mind felt clearer, less foggy, and he was able concentrate on things better. An examination of himself further showed that he had grown about a half a foot, making him able to look Kuno-baka or right in the eye, or maybe even a bit taller. His muscles and bones felt different as well, stronger, more hardy, while still retaining the sleekness he had trained for, even they had enlarged along with his frame, making him look more muscular, but not obscenely so. His senses seemed to be a bit more sensitive as well, no longer did he need to squint slightly at far off details.

But it was his Ki that was the most changed.

Where as before his Ki pools could be said to be small lakes, they now seemed to be endless oceans, deep and wide. It was more than he sensed, by a massive, uncountable or comparable, margin, from any grandmaster or the old ghoul. Even the little freak didn't hold a candle to this amount.

It was interesting to note, however, that there seemed to be something within his Ki. Several somethings in fact. They were like metaphorical islands within the ocean of his power, anchored firmly in the core of his being. He was curious as to what they were, but now wasn't the time to find out.

First he had figure out where, in the name of all things sacred, he was.

And how the hell his cursed form was out and about!?

"Finished, big brother," the said subject of his thoughts chirped from behind him, making him turn to face her.

Sapphire blue eyes glinted at him merrily from an elfin face topped with the bright vivid red of her hair. She was leaning forward and rocking back an forth on her bare heels, giving her an air of a mischievous child, her vastly smaller stature helping that picture. She had seemed to have gone through a similar process that his male form had, though it lacked the vast power of Ki and the height had not changed at all. It seemed to be more of a bringing about the pinnacle of the form, rather than enhancing it, at least for her. In short, she was a visage of beauty, even someone as dense as he could admit that, though it may also be because of his vanity over his own female form. Though, it seemed that the bust had grown, not that he ever compared such.

That said, the clothes she currently wore, were not flattering. _At all_.

He wasn't sure what to make of her. On one hand, she represented another sort of weird magical bullshit that had been following him, in one form or another, since the whole 'Curse of Jusenkyo' debacle, which he firmly blamed on his idiotic moron of a Pops. He had started to get a sinking feeling every time he heard the word 'magic' being spoken, such were his experiences, the majority of them bad, with it. As she was produced from a form of magical bullshit, despite her memories being unclear, he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Knowing his luck, it would be a solid steel boot, covered in spikes, ready to be lodged directly in his colon.

Not a fun thought.

On another hand, her presence had already shown to be a boon.

He no longer transformed.

When he had spontaneously decide to take a nap (men do not either pass out or faint and we would knock around anyone who said different), he had been awoken by a vigourous splashing of salt water. He was up and spluttering in annoyance at the jiggl-_giggling_- girl for a moment before had realised he hadn't shifted shape.

It had been quite a surprise.

After five minutes of assurance testing, read dumping himself into the ocean, repetitively, and a further ten minutes carolling for joy, the sounds of 'never gonna be a girl again!' repeatedly bouncing off of the high cliffs, and he had returned to his normal self, for a given value of normal.

He had then asked questions of her. The obvious like 'who are you?', 'where are we?' and 'where did you come from?'. And the not so obvious, 'are you a fiancee?', 'do you know a Genma Saotome?' and 'are you a magical girl wanting to bring about a world filled with love and justice?'.

The last been thrown in due to an odd story from Pig-Boy. Though Ranma was positive they didn't have super-powered cheerleaders, in short skirts, in Juuban. Happousai would have moved there by now if they did.

Her responses had been rather inadequate. 'I don't know' figuring heavily among them. And what ones she did answer were vague at best, cryptically unhelpful at worst.

I mean, what type of answer is 'The Borderlands' for where they are from. What borders?, and which 'lands'?

It was rather frustrating for the martial artist.

Still, the obviously deluded young girl thought she was his little sister, insisting on it when he tried to deny her. At one point he even snapped at her, declaring she was most certainly not his sister and would never claim her to be.

That, he felt, had been the worst mistake of his life.

His righteous glare had faltered beneath hunched shoulders and quivering frame of the young, his ire reducing further as the face he could see, namely the eyes, began to water, filling like quivering ponds, the trembling lips also adding to the image.

It was the dreaded Puppy Dog Pout, a lethal weapon that was used by the female gender the world over in order to break men to their will for millennia. It was said that only a dead man could resist that look, and even then only for a second.

He had proven no different.

"_Y-you_," she had trembled, making his spirits fall like a lead balloon, "_really t-think that, big brother,_"

Needless to say, he felt like an absolute bastard and was quick to remedy that, waving his hands frantically in front of him, trying to prevent the incipient waterworks from the young lady. A few minutes of stuttering and awkward attempts at apologies later, and he had a new little sister, grinning gleefully, who had taken the name Ranko.

A moment after the tears seemed to disappear with his admission of her into the family, he had feeling that he had just been taken for ride. But for the life of him he couldn't figure out how.

Either way, it didn't change his current dilemma. He was in an unknown place, as a consequence of magic, which had also changed something major within him and he now had a younger sister to look after.

Hopefully the heavens would see fit to aid him, just this once, because honestly didn't have a clue what to do. Except for scaling the cliff and looking for signs of civilisation anyway.

"Good ta know," he nodded in asqueisence, rousing himself from his thoughts, and rising to his feet, towering over her, "now lets move it."

Putting his words into action, he leapt high towards the large boulders, high above the sand, using them as stepping to stones to carry him swiftly towards the cliffs. If he was correct, and he usually was, Ranko shouldn't have a problem keeping up with him. He would have been able to do the same in his cursed form after all, and that was before the whatever-had-happened had changed it.

The cries of annoyance followed by the soft slap of bare flesh meeting stone, getting closer, meeting his ears vindicated his belief. A glance over his shoulder, a mocking grin plastered on his face, serving to rile up the young woman. To his experienced eyes, she was able to leap from stone to stone easily enough, but it lacked the flow, the natural movement, an experienced martial artist would have had. To them, the leaping from stone to stone would have as easy as walking, purely instinctive and not requiring any thought at all. To Ranko, she knew how to do it, the correct muscles to use and how much power to put into them, but it could easily be seen that she was thinking through every move, thinking linearly about every motion. Oh she did it fast enough to move quickly, but in battle? If her opponent was able to push her hard enough? She would have lost her balance and fallen rather quickly.

To put it bluntly, it was like she had read how to do it in a book and was only now trying it in real life. It was something Ranma had seen from street hoods or select 'Masters' of the more common schools of martial arts. Ranma was able to take them apart before his tenth birthday.

But another odd thing about it, was the _way_ she jumped. It was inexperienced and knowledgable, yes, but the slight tensing of the muscles, the way she coiled her body, the way she held her arms to facilitate balance and how she directed her descent. All of these little things added up. All of them were hallmarks of the Saotome-Ryu. Meaning, in some manner, she had learned his branch of Anything Goes.

These two points of interest allowed him formulate a theory, one that made a good deal sense, regarding her _exact_ origins, despite the sheer unbelievability of it. But that was for another time.

They both still had a large cliff to climb.

He arrived at the bottom of the tall cliff and waited for the one named Ranko to catch up.

"That was mean," huffed the girl as she arrived a few moments later, landing slightly awkwardly but still upright. Her flushed face, slightly red in temper, glared at him. He shrugged it off easily, he had seen worse glares, she didn't even count in the top ten.

"But it was funny," he responded, a slight smirk gracing his face. Ranko only flushed darker, though her manner shifted from aggressive to a softer persona, one he didn't recognize, leaving Ranma unsure of the girl's temperament. Women were strange to him at the best of times, despite him being formerly able to turn into one at the splash of a water glass.

"Do ya think ya can scale that?" He asked, putting his thoughts aside for the moment, hiking a thumb at the tall cliff.

The stone was rough to Ranma's knowledgable eye, having traversed many different types of terrain on his decade long training journey, making it good for handholds and it was far enough from the surf as to not be wet or slimy enough for grasping hands to slip. It was tall, enormously so, extending probably three hundred metres into the air, and almost bleach white from exposure to the elements. Massive deep vertical cracks split the face, almost separating the single cliff into several immense craggy pillars, like the rotten teeth of a giant. It would have been an interesting climb, if it wasn't a dead vertical escarpment. The incline was almost dead straight.

It made for an intimidating sight, to anyone that wasn't Ranma, anyway.

"Ummm," Ranko worried nervously, chewing on her bottom lip slightly, "I think I can," she slowly responded, eying the their prospective climb with a cautious eye, "but it would be... difficult."

Ranma raised an eyebrow at his little sister, something he would have to get used to. Obviously what knowledge she had was either limited, fragmented or otherwise incomplete. He had been scaling things like this for years, with a full pack even.

It looks like he would have to relive some of those times.

"Yeah," he snorted slightly, "and my underwear might stand up and dance a tango with a nearby boulder," he laughed to himself slightly, ignoring the deepening flush of her face again, before taking a knee and gesturing to his back, "get on, little sis," he smiled, beginning to get use to referring to the odd girl as his sister and finding it rather fun, "your big bro will getcha to the top."

Ranko looked at him blankly for a moment, before squealing softly and moving, faster than he could have thought she could, and scrambling onto his back, her arms and legs locked around his neck and hips respectively.

"A bit eager aincha?" He asked with a smirk, his suspicion over her due to her appearance by magical means dimming even more. Despite the looks she had, it seemed she was more childish than even he was, or Akane was, at times. It was like she was an older child in the body of a maturing teen. Another thing for him to think about at another time.

Her giggles as she buried her face in the back of his neck only made him smile more. Though he did blush to himself a bit due to the feel of the unbound, and rather large, pair of _bosoms_ that he could feel even through his undershirt and the coat she was wearing.

Ignoring this, he eyed the cliffs again, judging the best path he could take to the top. His battle made mind flexed its muscles to find the perfect route, treating it as a challenge, something that always kept it on task. Saotomes never lose, after all.

"Hang on," he warned crouching slightly as his legs readied themselves to explode upwards. His body relaxed, his breath evened out, his spirit calmed as he closed his eyes.

He felt the limbs of the young woman —his sister, he corrected himself- clench around him harder, anchoring herself to him.

The world fell quiet, as if it was awaiting something, the rise of something that they could only bow their heads to.

All in one motion, Ranma's eyes snapped open, blue fires of determination, and his legs exploded into movement. A single leap moved him in a blur towards the cliff face, easily ten metres above. A twist of his hips, a placement of his legs, and he landed, flat footed and almost perpendicular to the ground, against it in a crouch. Another pulse of the muscles and he was now leaping further up, fifteen metres this time, as he spanned the short distance between the white stone teeth. Again and again, this motion was repeated, taking him higher and higher up the cliff, the wind whistling in his ears at the force and speed of his leaps.

He listened to the, paradoxically, excited and scared squeals of Ranko as he moved swiftly up the cliff, triangle jumping between two 'teeth'. Obviously she was at least enjoying this little trip, if only in a small amount. Truthfully, he was as well, his body responded much better than it had before, his movements were crisper, more powerful and fluid. And better yet, he wasn't using any Ki to do so, only the natural, though he was hesitant to give it that label due to the unexplained transformation, strength.

A wild grin covered his face as he came with a last few leaps of the top and decide to do something a little different.

On his next leap, roughly forty metres below the top, he pulled on his Ki, letting it empower his muscles. It came easily, like a dog to its master, and flowed into his muscles.

He felt the change instantly.

His senses sharpened even further, able to almost see the individual grains of the stone in front of him, able to gear his own heartbeat and that of Ranko's. The tang of salt and, distantly, rotten eggs, touched his nose and tongue. The rough stone of the cliff seemed to feel more like sandpaper to him now, though without the associated pain.

His muscle, he could feel them swell slightly, making the already ill-fitting, and uncomfortably tight, undershirt tear to shreds immediately, falling away from the front of torso and only staying on him due to Ranko being plastered to his back. His slippers followed suit, the soles busting off. His pants, despite being just as ill fitting as his shirt, were his only clothing to survive this simple empowerment gone wrong, the leggings around his calves and thighs just as badly as his shirt, but the waist was still around his hips, staying on and creating a sort of skirt of fabric.

It was his mind, though, that had the greatest change. He could feel his instincts change, becoming more primal, more animalistic, than they were on the beach. It felt familiar, but it did not contain the foreboding and fear that generally came with it.

It felt like the onset of the Neko-ken.

Before the fight with whatever-the-hell-she-was, the Neko-ken was something to fear, an endless darkness he would pulled into if he was near a cat long enough. Now, he welcomed it like an old friend, knowing what it meant that these feelings engulfed.

He and the Neko-ken were one and the same, but the Neko-ken rested, dormant and hidden, until he called upon his Ki.

It was quite invigorating. But, even now, he felt this was only the very tip of the iceberg of the changes that had happened to him.

The stone cliff crumbled beneath his bare, clenching, and slightly clawed, feet as he burst upward, rocketing up parallel to the vertical cliff face. Ten metres, twenty metres, thirty, forty, forty-five. The distance rocketed by, his velocity incredible. Within the last five, he gently reached out with his claw tipped hands, readying for the last movement.

His hand was in line with the lip of the cliff when it lashed out, seeming to only brush the top. But it was enough for the martial artist, changing his vertical climb into a series of forward flips, moving him away from the over the cliff to a fair distance on the top of the cliff, away from the edge.

Judging the distance enough, he halted the flips and lightly dropped the last ten feet to the ground, his bare feet not making a sound on the sparse grass that graced the top of the cliff.

A perfect landing, in his opinion.

A muffled groan was heard from behind him, the sound of an ill and nauseous female, something he knew quite well, having to experience it himself every month. But not anymore!

"Ya alright, kiddo?" He asked, swinging the young woman gently from his back into a bridal carry in concern. Not that he knew what the carry was called, otherwise he would never have done it. The fiancees had left their mark rather well.

"The world is spinning," she groaned, swirls in her eyes, "make it stop, big bother," she whined.

"Che," he chuckled, understanding her reaction, those sort of tumbles were generally made by someone who was used to spinning, part of the trainng to maintain equilibrium and balance under pressure, and only practice could remedy it, something she didn't have.

The first time was usually the hardest, and would take a few minutes for her to recover fully. He would keep her in his arms for now. Thankfully, she would be pretty out of it until she recovered.

Ranma looked around the top of the cliff, searching for any signs of habitation. It was slightly more difficult due to him releasing his hold on his Ki, its power not needed at the time, but he was able to make out a dirt path a little ways from where he was, leading parallel to the coast and heading north and south, while another path branched from it leading to the west, towards a large rolling mountain he could see.

He squinted slightly, his enhanced vision cutting through the glare of the rising sun. In the distance, to the north, he thought he could see the outline of a city, though the distance was able to obscure the exact nature of it. For some reason though, something about looked...odd. He couldn't place a finger on why though.

The south was endless, a road that just kept going on. He couldn't see anything along it, nor could he see an end. That option was out.

The west, as before, lead towards a mountain, a quick glance showing it to be the highest point around. It would a good place to get the lay of the land, so to speak.

He thought for a moment, taking in his situation and current options. He had little in the way of resources, someone under his care and in a completely unknown area. The options were a tall mountain in the distance and a city or town that felt odd.

Choices, choices.

He thought for a moment, considering, glancing at the still dazed young lady in his arms, before nodding firmly and began his trek towards his destination, the wind making the shreds of clothes and his hair rustle.

As he trekked, the wind rustled the grass on the lip of the cliff, moving dirt and stone, revealing an old bit of paper, yellowed and falling apart, but, for a brief moment, was still legible.

The title of the paper, bold and still black, in letters foreign to Ranma, read: **WELCOME TO SANTORINI.**

* * *

Well folks. how did you like it. I know it was more of a filler, but this leads up to an arc in the story I like to call 'Revelations'. At this point, Ranma is ignorant of his true power and position in the world. Instead of having the HCC simply inform him of what is happening for him, I decided for him to have a bit more of a world trip before returning to Japan. Of course, being Ranma, it won't be as simple as going from point A to point B, otherwise he wouldn't be the chaos magnet we all know and love. I also took some liberties on the exact nature of the Campione transformation, hopefully you will find them intriguing at least. Just so you know, these changes are unique to Ranma due to some of Genma-baka's actions. I will go through it in a different chapter, either the next one or the one after.

I also hope you like Ranko. Many of you wanted to keep Ranma as a Aquatranssexual and many of you didn't. I tried to accomodate both parties with a non-changing Ranma and an inherited little sister, though not really. If any of you have read any stories from Madhat886, then you may have a clue what I am talking about, though there is a small twist in regards to Ranko that I think will take many of you by surprise.

Also, regarding the powerup from climbing the cliff, that wasn't an Authority but a side effect of merging with the neko-ken. His Authorities will be revealed next chapter. ANd yes, he does have multiple ones, due to his extremely high compatability with the Heretic Goddess he slew. You guys can have a guess why.

keep it cool,

kujikiri21


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